“I don’t know,” came in a wailing sob from the depths of the pillow where the face for a moment hid itself from view. “Where did you come from?” was the next question, put in a tone so cold and harsh that the young girl looked up in some alarm, and answered meekly, “From New York, ma’am. It’s a great ways off, and I thought I’d never get here, but every body was so kind to me and Willie, and the driver said if ’twan’t so late, and he so many passengers, he’d drive across the fields. He pointed out the way and I came on alone. I saw the light off on the hill and tried to hurry, but the snow blinded me so bad and Willie was so heavy, that I fell down by the gate, and guess I went to sleep, for I remember dreaming that the angels were watching over me, and covering Willie with the snow to keep him warm.” The color had faded now from Mrs. Worthington’s face, for a terrible suspicion of she scarcely knew what had darted across her mind, and very timidly she asked again, “Whom did you hope to find?” “Mr. Worthington. Does he live here?” was the frank reply; whereupon ’Lina, with crimsoning cheek, drew herself up haughtily, exclaiming, “I knew it. I’ve thought so ever since Hugh came home from New York.” In her joy at having, as she supposed, found something tangible against her provoking brother—some weapon with which to ward off his offensive attacks upon her own deceit and want of truth—’Lina forgot that she had never seen much of him until several months after his return from New York, at which time she had become, from necessity, a member of his household and dependent upon his bounty. ’Lina was unreasonable, and without stopping to consider the effect her remarks would have upon the young girl, she was about to commence a tirade of abuse, when the mother interposed, and with an air of greater authority than she generally assumed toward her imperious daughter, bade her keep silence while she questioned the stranger, gazing wonderingly from one to the other, as if uncertain what they meant. Mrs. Worthington had no such feelings for the girl as ’Lina entertained. If she were anything to Hugh, and the circumstances thus far favored that belief, then she was something to Hugh’s mother, and the kind heart of the matron went out toward her even more strongly than it had done at first. “It will be easier to talk with you,” she said leaning forward, “if I knew what to call you.” “Adah,” was the response, and the brown eyes, swimming with tears, sought the face of the questioner with a wistful eagerness. “Adah, you say. Well, then, Adah, why have you come to my son on such a night as this, and what is he to you?” “Are you his mother?” and Adah started up. “I did not know he had one. Oh, I’m so glad. And you’ll be kind to me, who never had a mother?” A person who never had a mother was an anomaly to Mrs. Worthington, whose powers of comprehension were not the clearest imaginable. “Never had a mother!” she repeated. “How can that be?”