that it was from the same considerate tenderness that you would have again filched her from me some months later, to place her with that 'she-devil' who was once more by your side, to be reared and sold to—oh horror!—horror!—unimaginable horror!—that pure, helpless infant!—you, armed with the name of father!—you, strong in that mighty form of man!"
"What do you mean? Oh, I remember now! When Gabrielle was in London, and I had seen you on the Bridge. Who could have told you that I meant to get the child from you at that time?"
Waife was silent. He could not betray Arabella Crane; and Jasper looked perplexed and thoughtful. Then gradually the dreadful nature of his father's accusing word seemed to become more clear to him; and he cried, with a fierce start and a swarthy flush, "But whoever told you that I harbored the design that it whitens your lip to hint at, lied, and foully. Hark ye, Sir! many years ago Gabrielle had made acquaintance with Darrell, under another name, as Matilda's friend (long story now—not worth telling); he had never, I believe, discovered the imposture. Just at the time you refer to, I heard that Darrell had been to France, inquiring himself into facts connected with my former story that Matilda's child was dead. That very inquiry seemed to show that he had not been so incredulous of my assertions of Sophy's claims on him as he had affected to be when I urged them. He then went on into Italy. Talking this over with Gabrielle, she suggested that, if the child could be got into her possession, she would go with her in search of Darrell, resuming the name in which she had before known him—resuming the title and privilege of Matilda's friend. In that character he might listen to her when he would not to me. She might confirm my statement—melt his heart—coax him into terms. She was the cleverest creature! I should have sold Sophy, it is true. For what? A provision to place me above want and crime. Sold her to whom? To the man who would see in her his daughter's child—rear her to inherit his wealth—guard her as his own honor. What! was this the design that so shocks you? Basta—basta! Again, I say, Enough! I never thought I should be so soft as to mutter excuses for what I have done. And if I do so now, the words seem forced from me against my will—forced from me, as if in seeing you I was again but a wild, lawless, willful boy, who grieved to see you saddened by his faults, though he forgot his grief the moment you were out of sight."
"Oh Jasper," cried Waife, now fairly placing his hand on Jas-
