“Ay, ay, Madam,” returned the worthy Bignall, whose feelings had been not a little disturbed by the previous scene; “it is near half a century since the Parson and I were boys together, and we have been rubbing up old recollections on the cruise. Happy am I that a lady of so commendable qualities has come to make one of our party.” “In this lady you see the daughter of the late Captain——, and the relict of the son of our ancient Commander, Rear-Admiral de Lacey,” hastily resumed the divine, as though he knew the well-meaning honesty of his friend was more to be trusted than his discretion. “I knew them both; and brave men and thorough seamen were the pair! The lady was welcome as your friend, Merton; but she is doubly so, as the widow and child of the gentlemen you name.” “De Lacey!” murmured an agitated voice in the ear of the governess. “The law gives me a title to bear that name,” returned she whom we shall still continue to call by her assumed appellation, folding her weeping pupil long and affectionately to her bosom. “The veil is unexpectedly withdrawn, my love, nor shall concealment be longer affected. My father was the Captain of the flag-ship. Necessity compelled him to leave me more in the society of your young relative than he would have done, could he have foreseen the consequences. But I knew both his pride and his poverty too well, to dare to make him arbiter of my fate, after the alternative became, to my inexperienced imagination worse than even his anger. We were privately united by this gentleman, and neither of our parents knew of the connexion. Death”— The voice of the widow became choaked, and she made a sign to the chaplain, as if she would have him continue the tale. “Mr de Lacey and his father-in-law fell in the same battle, within a short month of the ceremony,” add ed the subdued voice of Merton. “Even you, dearest Madam, never knew the melancholy particulars of their end. I was a solitary witness of their deaths for to me were they both consigned, amid the confusion of the battle. Their blood was mingled; and your parent, in blessing the young hero, unconsciously blessed his son.” “Oh! I deceived his noble nature, and dearly have I paid the penalty!” exclaimed the self-abased widow. “Tell me, Merton, did he ever know of my marriage?” “He did not. Mr de Lacey died first, and upon his bosom, for he loved him ever as a child; but other thoughts than useless explanations were then uppermost in their minds.” “Gertrude,” said the governess, in hollow, repentant tones, “there is no peace for our feeble sex but in submission; no happiness but in obedience.” “It is over now,” whispered the weeping girl; “all over, and forgotten. I am your child—your own Gertrude—the creature of your formation.”