—no child of Jasper's, no grandchild of mine—then you might not be too proud to bless her at least as his bride! And, Sir, the poor child loves the young man. How could she help it? And, at her age, life without hope is either very short, or very, very long! Let me inquire! I should be happy even to know that she is not my grandchild. I should not love her less; and then she would have others to love her when I am gone to Lizzy!"
Darrell was deeply moved. To him there was something in this old man—ever forgetting himself, ever so hurried on by his heart—something, I say, in this old man, before which Darrell felt his intellect subdued, and his pride silent and abashed.
"Yes, Sir," said Waife, musingly, "so let it be. I am well now. I will go to France to-morrow."
Darrell nerved his courage. He had wished to spare Waife the pain which his own persuasions caused to himself. Better now to be frank. He laid his hand on Waife's shoulder, and, looking him in the face, said, solemnly, "I entreat you not! Do you suppose that I would not resume inquiry in person, nor pause till the truth were amply clear, if I had not strong reason to prefer doubt to certainty?"
"What do you mean, Sir?"
"There is a woman whose career is, I believe, at this moment revived into fresh notoriety as the heroine of some drama on the stage of Paris—a woman who, when years paled her fame and reft her spoils, as a courtesan renowned for the fools she had beggared, for the young hearts she had corrupted, sought plunder still by crimes, to which law is less lenient. Charged with swindling, with fraud, with forgery, and at last more than suspected as a practiced poisoner, she escaped by suicide the judgment of human tribunals."
"I know of whom you speak—that dreadful Gabrielle Desmarets, but for whom my sacrifice to Jasper's future might not have been in vain! It was to save Sophy from the chance of Jasper's ever placing her within reach of that woman's example, that I took her away."
"Is it not, then, better to forbear asking who were your Sophy's parents, than to learn from inquiry that she is indeed your grandchild, and that her mother was Gabrielle Desmarets?"
Waife uttered a cry like a shriek, and then sat voiceless and aghast. At last he exclaimed, "I am certain it is not so! Did you ever see that woman?"
"Never that I know of; but George tells me that he heard your son state to you that she made acquaintance with me under another name, and if there was a design to employ her in con-
