"Oh, Adele! Adele!" he cries, hurriedly addressing his wife; "oh, sing that song; that sweet hymn, you remember; you used to sing it to her-- often, often. You remember it, Adele! Look at her. Quick! quick! O God! Perhaps she may--" He is interrupted by the music. The mother has caught his meaning, and with the adroitness of a practised player, suddenly changes the tune to one of a far different character. I recognise the beautiful Spanish hymn, "La madre a su hija" (The mother to her child). She sings it, accompanying her voice with the bandolin. She throws all her energy into the song until the strain seems inspired. She gives the words with full and passionate effect-- "Tu duermes, cara nina! Tu duertnes en la paz. Los angeles del cielo-- Los angeles guardan, guardan, Nina mia!--Ca--ra--mi--" The song was interrupted by a cry--a cry of singular import--uttered by the girl. The first words of the hymn had caused her to start, and then to listen, if possible, more attentively than ever. As the song proceeded, the singular expression we had noted seemed to become every moment more marked and intense. When the voice had reached the burden of the melody, a strange exclamation escaped her lips; and, springing to her feet, she stood gazing wildly in the face of the singer. Only for a moment. The next moment she cried in loud, passionate accents, "Mamma! mamma!" and fell forward upon the bosom of her mother! Seguin spoke truly when he said, "Perhaps in God's mercy she may yet remember." She had remembered--not only her mother, but in a short time she remembered him. The chords of memory had been touched, its gates thrown open. She remembered the history of her childhood. She remembered all! I will not essay to describe the scene that followed. I will not attempt to picture the expression of the actors; to speak of their joyous exclamations, mingled with sobs and tears; but they were tears of joy. All of us were happy--happy to exultation; but for Seguin himself, I knew it was the hour of his life. C THE END.