Ellen could hardly help throwing herself at her feet, and declaring that she was really her child; but she controlled herself, and replied--"That cannot be, madam; I have other duties to perform." "You have? What? To whom?" "To my husband and children." "Gracious heaven! what do you mean? Who are you?" "One who loved you before she ever saw you. One who loves you now." "Speak, child! oh, speak!" exclaimed Mrs. Linden, turning suddenly pale, and grasping hold of Ellen with both her hands. "Who are you? What interest have you in me? Speak!" "Do you love me?" asked Ellen, in a husky whisper. "Love you! You have forced me to love you; but speak out. Who are you?" "Your daughter," was faintly replied. "Who?" "The wife of one who has never ceased to love you; the wife of Charles Linden." Mrs. Linden seemed paralyzed for some moments at this declaration. Her face became pale--her eye fell to the floor--she sat like one in a dream. "Dear mother!" plead the anxious wife, sinking on her knees, "will you not forgive your son? Will you not forgive me that I loved him so well? If you knew how much we love you--how anxious we are to make you happy, you would instantly relent." "My child! Oh, can it be true?" This was said in a choking voice by Mrs. Linden, as she threw her arms around Ellen and held her to her bosom. In a few moments she withdrew herself, and fixed her eyes long and earnestly upon Ellen's face. "Ah! what a loving heart have I wronged!" she murmured, putting her hand upon the brow of her new-found child, tenderly. Then she drew her again almost convulsively to her bosom. All that was passing within was heard without, for Charles and his sister were at the door: they entered at this moment. "My mother!" exclaimed Charles, springing towards her.