“Oh! how glad my mother will be to know that it is to a former friend she owes her present prosperity. But, dear lady, you say your name is not that which the country people have given you. Will you tell me what it is, so that I may rejoice my mother’s heart with the knowledge, that we may know whom to name when we invoke blessings on our benefactress?” “Perhaps, my child. My name has never transpired in this neighborhood. None know it but the people of the legal profession who are my agents. The country folks here have given me more than one name—Lynn, Lindsay, and so forth—all being somewhat akin to my own name, to which they may have got some slight clew. But never mind about my name for the present; I wish to speak of yours. Have you any middle name?” “Oh, yes, madam. I am Emolyn Wyndeworth Palmer. That is a very fine name for a poor girl; but mother wished to give me the whole of her _angel’s_ name, she said, and so she had me baptized Emolyn Wyndeworth.” “And you say that she for whom you were named died many years ago?” “Yes, madam, so many years ago that it was before my recollection. Oh, I often wish that I could have seen her once, only once, to have her image in my mind.” “How came she to die so young, my child?” inquired the lady in a low tone. “I do not know, madam; but mother says she was a martyr; that she had suffered a grevious wrong that broke her heart; but who had wronged her, or how she was wronged, mother never would tell—only she said there were some wrongs too great, and some sorrows too deep to be spoken of in this world.” “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” murmured the Lady of Edengarden in a low voice. And then silence fell upon the two and lasted some minutes. Finally Em. rose to take leave. “You are going?” said the lady. “Yes, madam. I have only time to get home before dark. If I should be out later my mother would fear something ill would happen to me. I am very grateful, dear lady, for your kindness to me to-day, as well as for your great goodness to our whole family. I wish you good-evening,” said Em., lifting the lady’s hand to her lips and then turning to depart. “Stop,” said the Lady of Edengarden. Em. obeyed, and stood waiting. “You wish to tell your mother the name of her unknown friend?” “Oh, yes, madam—if you please,” eagerly exclaimed Em. “Tell her, then, that I am one whom she used to know and love as Emolyn Wyndeworth.” Em. uttered a half-suppressed cry, reeled, and might have fallen, but that the lady sprang and caught her, supported her to the sofa, and sat her down in the corner, where she leaned back deathly pale and faint. “My child, I am very sorry for this; but I could not have supposed that my announcement would have startled you so much,” said the lady as she applied a small vinaigrette to the nose of the girl.