Mrs. Brahan accompanied me to the chamber prepared for my reception; and had I been her own daughter she could not have lavished upon me more affectionate cares. The picture of my mother, which I had returned when we left the city, was hanging on the wall; and the eyes and lips of heavenly sweetness seemed to welcome her sad descendant to the home of her infancy. As I stood gazing upon it with mingled grief and adoration, Mrs. Brahan encircled me with her arm, and told me she understood now the history of that picture, and the mystery of its wonderful resemblance to me. I had not seen her since the notoriety my name had acquired, in consequence of the diamonds and my father's arrest; and she knew me now as the daughter of that unhappy man. Did she know the circumstances of the discovery of my brother, and my husband's flight? I dared not ask; but I read so much sympathy and compassion in her countenance, and so much tenderness in her manners, I thought she had fathomed the depth of my sorrows. "You look like a girl of fifteen," she said, passing her fingers through my carelessly waving locks. "Your hair was very beautiful, but I can scarcely regret its loss." "I may look more juvenile,--I believe I do, for every one tells me so; but the youth and bloom of my heart are gone for ever." "For ever from the lips of the young, and from those more advanced in life, mean very different things," answered Mrs. Brahan. "I have no doubt you have happier hours in store, and you will look back to these as morning shadows melting off in the brightening sunshine." "Do you know all that has happened, dear Mrs. Brahan, since I left your city?" "The rumor of the distressing circumstances which attended the discovery of your brother reached us even here, and our hearts bled for you. But all will yet be well. The terrible shock you have sustained will be a death blow to the passion that has caused you so much misery. Forgive me, if I make painful allusions; but I cannot suffer you to sink into the gloom of despondency." "I try to look upward. I do think the hopes which have no home on earth, have found rest in heaven." "But why, my dear young friend, do you close your heart to earthly hope? Surely, when your husband returns, you may anticipate a joyful reunion." "When he returns! Alas! his will be a life-long exile. Believing what he does, he will never, never return." "But you have written and explained every thing?" "How can I write,--when I know not where to direct, when I know not to what region he has wandered, or what resting-place he has found?" "But Mr. Harland!" said she, with a look of troubled surprise. "You might learn through him?" "Mrs. Linwood has written repeatedly to Mr. Harland, and received no answer. She concluded that he had left the city, but knew not how to ascertain his address." "Then you did not know that he had gone to India? I thought,--I believed,--is it possible that you are not aware"--