“My poor boy!” murmured Lady Hatfield, straining him to her breast: “I feel as if an immense weight were taken from my mind--I seem to drink of a purer source of happiness than I have ever yet known----Oh! why did I ever hesitate to tell thee that thou wast my son!” And again she pressed him closer and closer still to her bosom, covering his brow and cheeks with kisses; while tears flowed from the eyes of the Countess and of Lady Frances at the touching spectacle--and the Earl turned aside to conceal his emotions. CHAPTER CXXI. MR. HATFIELD. In the meantime Sir John Lascelles had repaired to the library in the Earl of Ellingham’s mansion; and there he found, as he had anticipated, his friend Mr. Hatfield--_late_ Tom Rain. This individual was now in his fiftieth year; and he was much changed by time as well as by art. He still possessed the fine teeth which caused the beholder to forget the somewhat coarse thickness of the lips;--but the laugh that came from those lips, when he was in a happy mood, was more subdued and quiet than when the reader first made his acquaintance many years previously to the present date. Though never inclined to corpulency, he had nevertheless become thinner: yet his form was still upright, muscular, and well-knit. In his calm moments, especially when he was alone, a slight shade of melancholy appeared upon his countenance;--and he even sighed at times as he thought upon the past These were the changes which the lapse of years had effected in regard to him; and the appliances of art rendered it still more difficult to recognise in the Mr. Hatfield of 1846 the rollicking Tom Rain of 1827. For his hair and whiskers were dyed a very dark hue; and his attire was a plain suit of black. Was he happy? Yes--to a certain extent, in spite of the shade of melancholy and the occasional sighs. His was a disposition originally so gay and joyous, that it could not be completely subdued--only mellowed down. Years of rigorous integrity--boundless charity--never-failing philanthropy--and innumerable good deeds, had established in his mind a confidence that the errors of his early life were fully expiated;--and so complacently could he look upon the present, that he no longer reproached himself for the past. This was the usual tenour of his mind: but, as we have already hinted, there were now and then moody intervals in which thought became painful. These were, however, of no frequent occurrence;--and, thus--on the whole--we may assert that Mr. Hatfield _was_ happy.