“As you please, Sir Rowland,” returned Jonathan, with affected indifference; “but I'm not going to hunt the deer for another to eat the ven'son, depend on 't.” But seeing that no notice was taken of the retort, he drew a little aside, and folded his arms, muttering, “This whim will soon be over. She can't last long. I can pull the strings of this stiff-necked puppet as I please.” Sir Rowland, meantime, throw himself on his knees beside his sister, and, clasping her chilly fingers within his own, besought her forgiveness in the most passionate terms. For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. But, after some restoratives had been administered by Mrs. Norris, she revived a little. “Rowland,” she said, in a faint voice, “I have not many minutes to live. Where is Father Spencer? I must have absolution. I have something that weighs heavily upon my mind.” Sir Rowland's brow darkened. “I have sent for him,” Aliva, he answered; “he will be here directly, with your medical advisers.” “They are useless,” she returned. “Medicine cannot save mo now.” “Dear sister----” “I should die happy, if I could behold my child.” “Comfort yourself, then, Aliva. You _shall_ behold him.” “You are mocking me, Rowland. Jests are not for seasons like this.” “I am not, by Heaven,” returned the knight, solemnly. “Leave us, Mrs. Norris, and do not return till Father Spencer arrives.” “Your ladyship----” hesitated Norris. “Go!” said Lady Trafford; “it is my last request.” And her faithful attendant, drowned in tears, withdrew, followed by the two assistants. Jonathan stepped behind a curtain. “Rowland,” said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, “you have assured me that I shall behold my son. Where is he?” “Within this room,” replied the knight. “Here!” shrieked Lady Trafford. “Here,” repeated her brother. “But calm yourself, dear sister, or the interview will be too much for you.” “I _am_ calm--quite calm, Rowland,” she answered, with lips whose agitation belied her words. “Then, the story of his death was false. I knew it. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child--an innocent child. God forgive you!” “May He, indeed, forgive me!” returned Trenchard, crossing himself devoutly; “but my guilt is not the less heavy, because your child escaped. This hand consigned him to destruction, but another was stretched forth to save him. The infant was rescued from a watery-grave by an honest mechanic, who has since brought him up as his own son.” “Blessings upon him!” cried Lady Trafford, fervently. “But trifle with mo no longer. Moments are ages now. Let me see my child, if he is really here?” “Behold him!” returned Trenchard, taking Thames (who had been a mute, but deeply-interested, witness of the scene) by the hand, and leading him towards her.