Philip coloured painfully; and the general, perceiving his confusion, added, "Excuse the liberty I have taken in asking the question--it did not arise from idle curiosity. The dearest friend of my early days was a Douglas, and the name is connected in my remembrance with scenes in which I spent many of my happiest days, when hope gilded my visions of the future, alas! only to deceive me. Yes, if Gavin Douglas still survives, I must find him out." "Gavin Douglas!" said Edward, in surprise; "was he a Douglas of Eskhall?" "The same," replied he. "My father!" said Edward. "Is it possible! And art thou really the son of my dearest and earliest friend? Wonderful are the mysterious sympathies of nature! How strangely was I attracted towards you both, but more especially towards your friend, whom I presume to be your younger brother?" "No, he is not even a connection, though I hope he soon will be one." "Then whose son is he?" Philip, with cheeks glowing, and eyes flashing with vainly-resisted emotion, answered, in rapid and passionate accents-- "The son of one who was ashamed to own him; who deserted him in his infancy, and cast him shelterless upon the casual bounty of strangers; the nameless son of a nameless father; perhaps"--and his eye fell, and his voice trembled--"the offspring of shame, as of misfortune." "Never, Philip!" said Edward; "the pure stream rises from the pure spring. Whoever your father may be, were he the highest in the land, did he know his son, he would be proud, not ashamed, to own him as such. But, as we have excited the general's curiosity, have you any objection to my gratifying it, by reciting the history of your life?" Philip made a movement of assent; and Edward proceeded to give a rapid sketch of the events which we have already narrated, from the time of Philip's desertion down to his gallant conduct on board the Recovery. The general had listened to his narrative with breathless interest; and, when it was concluded, asked, in a hurried and agitated manner-- "Was there no clue by which to trace his parentage? No writing, or other notice of his birth?" "Yes--a paper, stating his name to be Philip, and that he was born of good family; and a ring." "Here it is," said Philip, producing it. The moment the general's eyes glanced upon it, his cheek turned deadly pale, he leaned for a moment backward against a tree, and then, with an eager and trembling hand, he touched a spring at the back of the seal, and the shield flying open, the initials "P. & M. F." appeared engraved behind. "My son!" exclaimed the general, embracing Philip, while the tears poured down his cheeks--"my long-lost Philip! Merciful Heaven! I thank thee! How blind I was, not to trace before the resemblance to your sainted mother! The very eyes and forehead of my beloved Mary! My son, my son! This hour repays me for years saddened by the misery of uncertainty!"