Mrs. Sullivan changed color, and evidently much agitated, she inquired of her husband if he knew the name of their late neighbor. “I do not,” was his reply, “and our servants are as ignorant as ourselves. Ah! here comes an honest lad with berries to sell—and a fine tempting load, too. I will ask him while I purchase the fruit.” As the boy measured out the berries, Mr. Sullivan said, “Well, my son, can you tell me who lives in the fine old stone house just at the bend of the river?” “Oakly, sir—_Squire_ Oakly we call him here.” “Quick, quick, father, ma’ma is fainting!” screamed Ruth, springing to her side. For a moment all was alarm and confusion; but at length Mrs. Sullivan slowly opening her eyes desired to be led to her chamber. “I will lie down a few moments—I shall soon be better; it is nothing—nothing,” she answered to their affectionate solicitude. When alone, then did she give way to her joy. What happiness! her dear Louisa—her long lost was found. She was good, too, and lovely; her kindness to a stranger proved the former, and the assertions of the grateful Agatha the latter. She might now hope by some fortunate chance to see her—they might now meet. O, how could she keep down her throbbing heart; how would she be able to refrain from clasping her to her bosom, and avowing herself her mother. When she thought she had recovered sufficient composure, she again joined the family; but it was almost as soon dissipated by the conversation which followed her entrance into the sitting-room. “My dear,” said Mr. Sullivan, “do you know these foolish girls are for making out a relationship between themselves and our runaway neighbors—claiming a cousinship, even if several degrees removed, to the fair heroine of Agatha’s story—can it be so, think you?” “This Mr. Oakly may possibly have been some connection of their father’s,” faltered Mrs. Sullivan. “Had papa no brothers?” said Agatha. “Yes, one; but some unhappy family disagreement, however, prevented any intercourse. They were as strangers to each other.” “What if this Mr. Oakly should prove our uncle. Had he any family, ma’ma?” asked Ruth. “I believe—one—one daughter,” was the almost inaudible reply. “Do not say any more,” whispered Agatha to her sister, “don’t you see how it distresses ma’ma?” Mr. Sullivan had observed the same thing, and the subject was dropped. In a few days the papers announced among the list of passengers sailed for Havre, the name of Mr. Alfred Oakly, lady and daughter. * * * * *