The question was so earnestly asked that it met with equal earnestness. The dark head moved caressingly against Lord O'More's sleeve. “Better than anyone in the whole world,” said Lady O'More promptly. The Angel mused a second, and then her legal tinge came to the fore again. “Yes, but have you anyone you could like better, if he wasn't all right?” she persisted. “I have three of his sons, two little daughters, a father, mother, and several brothers and sisters,” came the quick reply. “And you like him best?” persisted the Angel with finality. “I love him so much that I would give up every one of them with dry eyes if by so doing I could save him,” cried Lord O'More's wife. “Oh!” cried the Angel. “Oh, my!” She lifted her clear eyes to Lord O'More's and shook her head. “She never, never could do that!” she said. “But it's a mighty big thing to your credit that she THINKS she could. I guess I'll tell you why I came.” She laid down the paper, and touched the portrait. “When you were only a boy, did people call you Freckles?” she asked. “Dozens of good fellows all over Ireland and the Continent are doing it today,” answered Lord O'More. The Angel's face wore her most beautiful smile. “I was sure of it,” she said winningly. “That's what we call him, and he is so like you, I doubt if any one of those three boys of yours are more so. But it's been twenty years. Seems to me you've been a long time coming!” Lord O'More caught the Angel's wrists and his wife slipped her arms around her. “Steady, my girl!” said the man's voice hoarsely. “Don't make me think you've brought word of the boy at this last hour, unless you know surely.” “It's all right,” said the Angel. “We have him, and there's no chance of a mistake. If I hadn't gone to that Home for his little clothes, and heard of you and been hunting you, and had met you on the street, or anywhere, I would have stopped you and asked you who you were, just because you are so like him. It's all right. I can tell you where Freckles is; but whether you deserve to know--that's another matter!” Lord O'More did not hear her. He dropped in his chair, and covering his face, burst into those terrible sobs that shake and rend a strong man. Lady O'More hovered over him, weeping. “Umph! Looks pretty fair for Freckles,” muttered the Angel. “Lots of things can be explained; now perhaps they can explain this.” They did explain so satisfactorily that in a few minutes the Angel was on her feet, hurrying Lord and Lady O'More to reach the hospital. “You said Freckles' old nurse knew his mother's picture instantly,” said the Angel. “I want that picture and the bundle of little clothes.” Lady O'More gave them into her hands.