Squire Moulton started, and a look of hatred flashed over his countenance; for the face that looked out upon him was like the face of his deadly foe, only with a younger and fresher expression. “Look!” she said again, and touched another spring. The face of the man disappeared, and in its place that of a young and exquisitely beautiful girl appeared. The dark and star-like eyes had a wistful look in their depths; the ripe, full lips a tempting curve, and masses of raven hair fell upon her neck and shoulders, spotless and fair as polished marble. The evil man smote his brow with his hand, and caught his breath convulsively at sight of this radiant creature. “Rose,” burst from his pale lips. Again she repeated that one word: “Look!” Another spring yielded to her touch, and a dimpled, rosy-cheeked cherub, with black eyes and hair, smiled joyously up at him. With an oath he sprang to seize the strange jewel from her; but quickly shutting the several lids, she hid it in her bosom. “Oh, Heaven!” he exclaimed, “you are, you must be Rose!” “You acknowledge me, then, at last!” she cried, with a wave of hope in her voice. “Oh, bless you for Ralph’s sake. Do not harden your heart again, for my life has been a desolate waste. My name was a misnomer, for nothing but thorns and briers have grown along my life-path. Say, my brother, speak, and tell me that I have not come to plead in vain—that you will give me back my place in your heart and home, and, I promise you, no servant ever was more faithful and devoted than I will prove, if you will but lift me out of the depths of my present woe.” Vain, useless pleading! Hearts of stone do not yield to a woman’s tears. With a bitter oath he spurned her from him. “No, you shameless wretch!” he exclaimed. “Get you gone from my sight, for I swear, by all that’s sacred, that you shall never cross my threshold. My house shall burn to ashes before it shall be polluted by your vile presence!” She bent her head upon her hands in silent anguish for a moment. Her heart was crushed anew within her as its returning affection was thus outraged. All hope died within her bosom. An outcast she had been for many long and weary years, and an outcast she must remain. The squire smiled grimly. It pleased him well to see her writhing in her agony at his feet, for he deemed the conquest now would be an easy one. But can a mother forget her young? Never! “Where is my boy?” at length she demanded, hoarsely. “How have you brought him up? Is he as evil and cruel as yourself? or have you kept that one trust sacred? Tell me!”