I returned to Mrs. St. Felix's house as soon as I had escorted Virginia home, leaving her very happy. The doctor was there, mute and melancholy; and I was thinking that we should have some difficulty in getting rid of him, when Tom made his appearance.

"If you please, sir," said he, "Mrs. Fallover wants you immediately: she's taken very bad."

"I can't help it."

Indeed, but you must help it, doctor," said Mrs. St. Felix; "the poor woman is, as you know, in her firs confinement, and you must not neglect her, so let's say good-bye at once, and a happy return. I asked Tom to come down, that I might call upon his sister and one or two other people, before I go; so you sce, doctor, as you can't go with me, you may just as well go and attend to the poor woman; so, good-bye, Doctor Tadpole, I will write to you as soon as I know what I'm to do."

The doctor took her hand, and after a pause said, "Mrs. St. Felix, Eheu, me infelix!" and hastened out of the shop.

"Poor fellow!" said she, "he'll miss me, and that's the truth. Good-bye, Jane; mind you look after everything till I come back, and take care of the dog and cat. Come, Tom, we'll go now."

I threw her trunk on my shoulders, and followed her till we came to the post house: the chaise was ordered out, and we set off.

"Tom," said Lady O'Connor, as I again call her, now that she is clear of Greenwich, "there is one portion of my history which you do not know-a very trifling part indeed. When I saw in the newspapers

that my husband had, as I supposed, been executed, I am ashamed to say that I first thought of suicide; but my better feelings prevailed, and I then resolved to change my name, and to let people suppose that I was dead. It was for that reason that I left my bonnet by the river-side, and all my apparel in the house, only taking away a few trinkets and valuables, to dispose of for my future subsistence. I obtained a passage in a transport bound to Woolwich, on the plea of my husband having arrived from abroad; and, by mere accident, I found the goodwill of the tobacconist's shop to be sold; it suited me-and there is the whole of my history which you do not know.

"And now, as to Virginia-I intend to have her with me very soon. Your mother is anxious that she should get into a high family, trusting that her beauty will captivate some of the members-a bad kind of speculation. I will advertise for a companion, and so arrange that your mother shall not see me; and when your sister does come to me, it shall not be as a companion, but as a child of my own. I owe you much, Tom,-indeed almost everything; and it is the only way in which I can repay you. I have already spoken to Sir James on the subject: he is equally ready to repay the debt of gratitude, and therefore in future Virginia is our adopted child."

"You are more than repaying me, Lady O'Connor," replied I, "and you are obliging me in the quarter where I feel the obligation the greatest."

"That I believe, Tom; so now say no more about it."

I may as well here inform the reader that I remained

a week at Chatham, and that during that time Lady O'Connor put an advertisement in the county paper, such as we knew would be a bait to my mother. This paper I forwarded to Virginia, marking the advertisement. My mother immediately replied to it, and Sir James O'Connor went up to Greenwich, and had an interview with my mother and Virginia, at apartments he had taken at the hotel-appeared pleased with my sister, and said that as soon as Lady O'Connor was sufficiently recovered she would send for her to Chatham. This took place in two days afterwards; my mother escorted Virginia there. Sir James stated that her Ladyship was too unwell to see anybody, but that she would speak a few words to Virginia, and leave Sir James to settle the rest with my mother. Virginia came down to her mother, declared that Lady O'Connor was a very ladylike, elegant person, and that she should wish to take the situation. The terms were handsome, and my mother, although she regretted not seeing her Ladyship, was satisfied, and Virginia was to come in two days afterwards, which she did. Thus was my sister comfortably settled, and, after remaining two days, I took my leave of Sir James and Lady O'Connor, intending to return to Deal, when I received a letter from Peter Anderson, informing me that Old Nanny had been suddenly taken very ill, and that Doctor Tadpole did not think it possible that she would survive more than twenty-four hours-that she was very anxious to see me, and that he hoped I would come up immediately.

I showed the letter to Lady O'Connor, who said, "You will go, of course, Tom."

Immediately," replied I," and the more so as this letter is dated three days back; how it has been delayed I do not know. Farewell, Lady O'Connor; and farewell, dearest Virginia. Old Nanny, as you both know, has many claims upon my gratitude."

CHAPTER XLIX.

MY FATHER, MUCH TO HIS SURPRISE, HAS A BIT OF LAND TO PUT HIS FOOT UPON, AND SAY, "THIS IS MY OWN."

"the

"YOU'RE too late, Tom," said Ben the Whaler, as I jumped down from off the basket of the coach; old woman died last night."

"I'm sorry for it, Ben," replied I, "as she wished so much to see me; but I did not receive Anderson's letter till this morning, and I could not get here sooner."

This intelligence induced me to direct my course to the Hospital, where I had no doubt that I should find Old Anderson, and obtain every information. I met him as he was walking towards the bench on the terrace facing the river, where he usually was seated when the weather was fine. "Well, Tom," said he, "I expected you, and did hope that you would have been here sooner. Come, sit down here, and I will give you the information which I know you have most at your heart. The old woman made a very happy end. I was with her till she died. She left many kind wishes for you, and I think her only regret was that she did not see you before she was called away"

"Poor Old Nanny! she had suffered much." "Yes, and there are great excuses to be made for her; and as we feel so here, surely there will be indulgence from above, where the secrets of all hearts are known. She was not insane, Tom; but from the time that she supposed that her son had been gibbeted, there was something like insanity about her: the blow had oppressed her brain,-it had stupefied her, and blunted her moral sense of right and wrong. She told me, after you had communicated to her that her son was in the Hospital, and had died penitent, that she felt as if a heavy weight had been taken off her mind; that she had been rid of an oppression which had ever borne down her faculties,-a sort of giddiness and confusion in the brain, which had made her indifferent, if not reckless, to everything; and I do believe it, from the change which took place in her during the short time which has since elapsed."

"What change was that? for you know that I have been too busy during the short intervals I have been here to call upon her."

"A change in her appearance and manners: she appeared to recover in part her former position in life; she was always clean in her person, as far as she could be in such a shop as hers,-and if she had nothing else, she always had a clean cap and apron."

"Indeed!"

"Yes; and on Sundays she dressed very neat and tidy. She did not go to church, but she purchased a large Bible and a pair of spectacles, and was often to be seen reading it at the door; and when I talked to her, she was glad to enter upon serious things.

I