He hastily pulled off his rough coat, revealing a neat and rich suit of broadcloth; then off came his fierce, heavy eyebrows and mustache—he had previously removed the swarthy tint from his face—and he stood forth the gentleman whom we saw in earnest conversation with Fredrich Weimher at the inn! “Alfred Ellerton!” “My brother! thank Heaven!” These exclamations burst simultaneously from the trembling lips of the villain before him, and from Mr. Ellerton, who stood at his side. Ralph, who had been leaning despondently upon a chair near by, sprang eagerly up and came nearer the deeply interesting group. At this instant, a sharp, shrill cry rang through the room, and a woman’s figure rushed frantically forward, and threw herself at the feet of him who stood at last revealed in his true character. It was the woman before mentioned, enveloped in the heavy cloak. Alfred Ellerton’s face paled to the hue of death, his heart throbbed wildly, and he shook in every limb as he stooped and gently raised the prostrate woman to her feet. She leaned against him, scarcely able to sustain her own weight. With nervous and trembling fingers he quickly unfastened her wrappings and cast them from her, revealing a tall, graceful form clad in a rich black velvet robe. She was queenly. Her hair, black as midnight, was twined around her small head like a coronet, but her face, which every one imagined must be beautiful, was hidden in her trembling hands. The man who so tenderly supported her drew them firmly but gently away, and eagerly scanned her face for a moment, then clasping her in a close, fond embrace, exclaimed, in joyful accents: “Rose, my wife!” and she nestled in his arms once more, a happy wife, feeling that all was right, that he had been true to her all these years, was true to her still; and she trusted him with the full confidence of her noble, loving heart. Squire Moulton sank back nearly fainting, the moment his sister’s face was revealed to him, terror plainly depicted upon every feature. He knew and realized now that the castle of revenge which he had been rearing all these long years was about to tumble and crush him in its fall. Oh, if he were only free he would fight his way from that dreadful place; he felt as if he could defy them all, were his arms only at liberty, or even if he had that cruel dagger which he had so cunningly prepared for another, he would plunge it into himself and thus escape his present torture. Poor Ralph, as he saw those whom his heart told him were his father and mother, longed to spring forward and clasp the two to his heart; but—the doubt lingered still “was he a lawful child?” So he controlled himself, and resolved to wait for further developments. CHAPTER XXXIII. ALFRED ELLERTON’S STORY.