Gladys could only yield to the embrace, she knew not wherefore. She loved Mr Jones as if he were her own father, he had been almost like a father to her ever since she had been in his house; she felt as if she were once more in a father's arms. We will leave them thus for one moment, to return to the drawing-room. Mrs Jones, in her turn, kissed Minette, and praised her for repeating her hymn so well. 'But where is Mr Jones?' asked the child. 'Will he take me to see the little boys and girls?' 'I think he must be gone to find a book for you, dear,' was the reply. But as neither Mr Jones nor the book came, Mrs Jones got rather fidgety, and fancying her husband might be ill, left the room to see what had become of him. She went to the dining-room, study, and bedroom, and, not finding him, went to ask Gladys whether she knew where he was. She was not a little astonished at finding him with Gladys in his arms, and the door half open at his back. Mrs Jones was not a jealous wife, but Gladys was a very pretty girl, Mr Jones was avowedly very fond of her, and Mr Jones was mortal. She felt a strange pain at her heart, turned pale, and stood for a moment unobserved by either, on the threshold, irresolute, when she heard these words from her husband,-- 'It must be so. Gladys--you are--you must be--my poor, dear, lost sister's child!' Gladys and Mrs Jones uttered a simultaneous cry, and the latter entered the room. 'My dear William, what does this mean?' she said, approaching her husband and putting her hand on his shoulder. 'Serena!' (he, too called that gentle woman Serena) 'my love. For my sake! This is my sister's child--my niece--my--our Gladys!' Mr Jones released the bewildered Gladys from his embrace, and almost placed her in the arms of his wife, who, scarcely comprehending what was passing, kissed her tenderly. Then Gladys sat down, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed convulsively. It was all a dream to her, from which she must awake. It could not be true. Mr and Mrs Jones soothed her. The former, restraining his own emotion, endeavoured to calm hers, by telling her that it was he who had written the names in that fortunate hymn book; he who was the brother of her mother; he who was her uncle, and who would be, not only an uncle, but a father to her henceforth. At last, the agitated girl looked up at the kind and loving faces that were bending over her, and murmured,-- 'It cannot be--it is--too good--too great--too happy.' 'It is true, Gladys, my niece, my child,' said Mr Jones, stooping to kiss her forehead. Mrs Jones sat down by her, and taking one of her hands in hers, said,-- 'It all seems a dream, Gladys. But if it be true, remember, you are now my niece, my child as well; and, God knows, I love you, and value you dearly.' Once more the lonely Gladys felt that she had kindred. Yielding to the feeling, she threw her arms round Mrs Jones' neck, and gave vent to the emotion she had been striving to suppress.