"No, there is no mistake; but I fancy the proud Vincent Carew is at the bottom of it all. He would not care for his child to know her humble relatives on her mother's side. Why, he was governor of his state eight years, and was in Congress also. The Franklyns were plain simple people; my grandfather and my father were mechanics, although nobler hearts never beat in human breasts, and they were never rich. It is from the life-insurance money they left us that we are enabled to live in comparative comfort now." Her eager, interested eyes made him go on rather diffidently: "As for me, I have no taste that way. My desire is for a literary life. I have written some trifles that the critics praised." "Your name?" the girl asked, curiously, gazing with interest at his handsome face. "Chester Franklyn," he replied. "Would you like to meet your unknown cousin--the daughter of the proud Vincent Carew?" she pursued. His face grew grave. "I do not know how to answer you," he replied. "She would not care for us. Perhaps her father has never told her about the Franklyns." She looked at him with a strange expression, and held out to him her little white hand. "I am your cousin--I am Kathleen Carew!" she said to him; and, while he stared in astonishment, she pointed at the picture of the beautiful girl. "She was my mother!" she said. CHAPTER LI. A COUSIN FOR A LOVER. Ah! love was never yet without The pang, the agony, the doubt Which rends my heart with ceaseless sigh, While day and night roll darkling by. BYRON. What a day that was! Kathleen seemed suddenly to grow well and strong at the wonderful discovery that it was her own cousin who had saved her life, and that the sweet, lovely woman who had cared for her so kindly was her own dear grandmother. They had volumes to tell each other; and how Mrs. Franklyn was shocked when she heard that a decoy letter, pretending to be from herself, had at last brought Kathleen to Richmond. She wept bitterly at the thought that her precious granddaughter had so nearly lost her life through this mysterious treachery. "My dear, I never wrote you a line, nor did I ever hear from you. I thought you were too proud to care about us; so I let you alone, although it nearly broke my poor heart!" She gazed with untiring love at the beautiful face, trying to trace in it every faint resemblance to her dead daughter. "You are more like your father than your mother," she said, with vague disappointment. "Your eyes, your features are his; but there is an expression like Zaidee's, and your hair is gold like hers was, only a richer, deeper shade. You are more beautiful even than Zaidee was," she continued, fondly, as she stroked the bronze-gold curls. Chester had little to say. He looked and listened eagerly, his heart thrilling at the thought that Kathleen was his cousin, and in a measure belonged to them.