"It was the Orphan Asylum, where Nina's sister was put, but they didn't call her Miggie. Her dying mother gave her another name lest the father should some time find her, and there in that great noisy city Miggie lived five or six long years, gradually forgetting everything in the past, everything but Marie's name and the airs her mother used to sing. Miggie had a taste for music, and she retained the plaintive strains sung to her as lullabys." "I know them, too," Nina said, beginning to hum one, while Edith continued, "After a time Marie went back to France. She did not mean to stay long, but she was attacked with a lingering, painful sickness, and could not return to Miggie, whom a beautiful lady took at last as her waiting-maid. Then Arthur came--Arthur, a boy--and she saw Nina's picture." "The one in the locket! Nina asked, and Edith answered, "Yes, 'twas in a locket, and it puzzled Miggie till she spoke the name, but thought it was Arthur who told her." "Wait, wait," cried Nina, suddenly striking her forehead a heavy blow; "I'm getting all mixed up, and something flashes across my brain like lightning. I reckon it's a streak of sense. It feels like it." Nina was right. It was "a streak of sense," and when Edith again resumed her story the crazy girl was very calm and quiet. "After a time this Miggie went to live with a blind man--with Richard," and Edith's hands closed tightly around the snowy fingers, which crept so quickly toward her. "She grew to be a woman. She met this golden-haired Nina, but did not know her, though Nina called her Miggie always, because she looked like Petrea, and the sound to Miggie was very sweet, like music heard long ago. They loved each other dearly, and to Miggie there was nothing in the whole world so beautiful, so precious, as poor little crazy Nina, Arthur's Nina, Dr. Griswold's Nina, 'Snow- Drop,' Richard called her. You remember Richard, darling?" "Yes, yes, I remember everything," and Nina's chest began to heave, her chin to quiver, her white lips, too, but still she shed no tear, and the dry, blue eyes seemed piercing Edith's very soul as the latter continued, rapidly, "Nina came home to Florida; she sent for Miggie, and Miggie came, finding Marie who told her all-- told her where the baby was--and the real Miggie fell on her face, thanking the good Father for giving her the sweetest, dearest sister a mortal ever had. Do you understand me, darling? Do you know now who I am--know who Miggie is?"