Markham, followed by Marian, entered the room.
But what was the surprise of Mr. Monroe—what was the joy of Ellen, when Marian advanced towards the bed, and presented the child to her mother!
"A parent must not be separated from her offspring," said Richard; "henceforth, Ellen, that infant must be nurtured by thee."
"Oh! good, generous friend, my more than brother!" exclaimed Ellen, with an ebullition of feeling that might almost be termed a wild paroxysm of joy; and she pressed the infant to her bosom.
"Richard," said Mr. Monroe, "you possess the noblest soul that ever yet blessed or adorned a human being."
Marian stooped over the bed, apparently to caress the sleeping infant, but in reality to whisper these words in Ellen's ears:—"Fear nothing: I was sent to fetch the child; and Mr. Wentworth will keep your secret inviolably."
Ellen cast a look of profound gratitude upon Marian; for this welcome announcement assured her that the surgeon would never admit the fact of possessing any clue, direct or indirect, to the father of the babe which she held in her arms.
In a few minutes, when she had recovered herself from the horrible alarm that had filled her mind lest Markham had himself been to see Mr. Wentworth, and had learnt that the father of the child was so far known that he had engaged to furnish the means for its support,—in a few minutes, we say, she turned to her father, and said: "Our benefactor's goodness deserves every explanation from us; tell him the extent of my misfortune—reveal to him the origin and cause of my shame—let nothing be concealed."
"Ellen," said Richard, "I know all! Forgive me, but I reached the door of your room when you were telling your sad tale to your father; and I paused—because I considered that it was improper to interrupt you at such a moment. And, if I overheard that affecting narrative, it was not a mean curiosity which made me stop to listen—it was the deep interest which I now more than ever feel in your behalf."
"And you do not despise me?" said Ellen, hanging down her head.