Mr. Temple's breath came and went quickly as the Duchess raised her tear-stained face to his. At this moment, Mrs. Lenoir, with a deep sigh, opened her eyes and saw Mr. Temple bending over her. With a shriek that struck terror to the hearts of those who surrounded her, she struggled from the arms of the Duchess, and embraced the knees of Mr. Temple. "You have come, then--you have come! Heaven has heard my prayers! I knew you would not desert me! Oh, God! my joy will kill me!" And looking down upon the kneeling woman, clasping his knees in a delirium of false happiness, Mr. Temple, with a face that rivalled in whiteness the snow-covered plains around him, gazed into the face of Nelly Marston! A suspicion of the possible truth struggled to the mind of the Duchess. "Mother!" she said, in a voice of much tenderness, raising the prostrate woman from her knees, and supporting her, "why should you kneel to him?" The tender voice, the tender embrace, the sudden flashing upon her senses of the forms standing about her, recalled Mrs. Lenoir from her dream, and she clung to her daughter with a fierce and passionate clinging. "My child! my child! They shall not take you from me! Say that you will not desert me--promise me, my child! I will work for you--I will be your servant--anything----" "Hush, mother!" said the girl. "Be comforted. I will never leave you. No power can part us." With a supreme effort of will, Mr. Temple tore himself from the contemplation of the shameful discovery, and the likely consequences of the exposure. "Come, Arthur," he said, holding out his trembling hand to his son; "this is no place for us." His voice was weak and wandering, and he seemed to have suddenly grown ten years older. Arthur did not stir from the side of Mrs. Lenoir. "Come, I say!" cried Mr. Temple petulantly; "have you no consideration for me? It can all be explained; we will talk over the matter when we are alone." "We must talk of it now," said Arthur solemnly, "with God's light shining upon us, and before His House of Prayer." A high purpose shone in the young man's face, and his manner was sad and earnest. He took Mrs. Lenoir's hand with infinite tenderness and respect: "Will you answer, with truth, what I shall ask you?" "As truthfully as I would speak in presence of my Maker!" replied Mrs. Lenoir, with downcast head. "This gentleman is my father. What is he to you?" "He is the father of my dear child, torn from me by a cruel fraud, and now, thank God, Oh, thank God! restored to me by a miracle. He should have been my husband. When he prevailed upon me to fly with him--I loved him, and was true to him in thought and deed, as God is my Judge!--he promised solemnly to marry me." "And then----" "I can say no more," murmured Mrs. Lenoir with sobs that shook the souls of all who heard; "he deserted me, and left me to shame and poverty. O, my child!" she cried, turning her streaming eyes to the Duchess, "tell me that you forgive me!"