He met Ada, and the impression she made was such as to occasion certain doubts in his mind of his boasted constancy. This unknown _looked_ as he would have had Ada look; and he felt that if her mind at all resembled her person, he was in danger. When he discovered who she was, he was so transported with joy that he forgot to be humiliated for not knowing her at once. But we have seen how severely he was punished in the sequel by Ada’s cold reception of his advances, and his own inability to claim her regard by the slightest appeal to the past. “And now,” said he, “I ask you, Charles, whether I have not been unjustly bound to secrecy? I contend that I _did_ recognize her, for my heart knew her and loved her at once.” “So you did,” replied Charles. “‘What’s in a name?’ Ada Somers or la belle Inconnue, James Stanley or James Darrington, were one and the same person, and both were constant to the object; how that object was called is of no importance.” “Mere sophistry,” said Catharine disdainfully, but James appealed to Ada, and she reversed the decision. Whilst they were still debating the matter, a carriage drew up before the door, and Catharine darted out of the room with the speed of an arrow. In a moment she returned, followed by Mrs. Somers, and a lady whom Ada recognized in an instant, and starting from her seat, she found herself in the arms of Mrs. Darrington. CHAPTER VI. “_Et l’on revient toujours à ses premiers amours._” (This is the veriest nonsense ever penned. It chimes in with our story and we use it, but without endorsing it the least in the world.) That night Ada relieved her full heart, by talking over the events of the last six months to her mother, who listened, as only a mother can listen, till midnight. Mrs. Somers had scarcely kissed her daughter’s cheek and left the room, when Ada rose, unlocked one of her bureau drawers, and took thence an antiquated-looking rose-wood box. Under heaps of broken chains and old fashioned jewels lay a dingy little emerald ring; she seized upon it, and uttered an exclamation of pleasure, as she found that it fitted her third finger. She then replaced her box, kissed the ring, and murmured a “good-night” to the giver. Some weeks after, Ada, her diamond and her emerald, became, one and all, the property of James. Dr. B. was at the wedding, and Catharine related to him every circumstance connected with what she styled “Ada’s pompous apostasy from the faith of her girlhood;” beginning with the drowning, and ending with the resumption of the emerald ring. Dr. B. evinced such lively interest in her story, that she proclaimed him to be the best listener she had ever met with in her life.