CHAPTER II. ON entering the main street of the pretty town, the name of Somers, in gilt capitals, was sufficiently conspicuous over the door of a very imposing shop. It boasted two plate-glass windows, at one of which were tastefully exhibited various articles of fine stationery, embroidery patterns, etc.; at the other, no less tastefully, sundry specimens of ornamental basket-work. Kenelm crossed the threshold and recognized behind the counter--fair as ever, but with an expression of face more staid, and a figure more rounded and matron-like--his old friend Jessie. There were two or three customers before her, between whom she was dividing her attention. While a handsome young lady, seated, was saying, in a somewhat loud but cheery and pleasant voice, “Do not mind me, Mrs. Somers: I can wait,” Jessie’s quick eye darted towards the stranger, but too rapidly to distinguish his features, which, indeed, he turned away, and began to examine the baskets. In a minute or so the other customers were served and had departed; and the voice of the lady was again heard, “Now, Mrs. Somers, I want to see your picture-books and toys. I am giving a little children’s party this afternoon, and I want to make them as happy as possible.” “Somewhere or other, on this planet, or before my Monad was whisked away to it, I have heard that voice,” muttered Kenelm. While Jessie was alertly bringing forth her toys and picture-books, she said, “I am sorry to keep you waiting, sir; but if it is the baskets you come about, I can call my husband.” “Do,” said Kenelm. “William, William,” cried Mrs. Somers; and after a delay long enough to allow him to slip on his jacket, William Somers emerged from the back parlour. His face had lost its old trace of suffering and ill health; it was still somewhat pale, and retained its expression of intellectual refinement. “How you have improved in your art!” said Kenelm, heartily. William started, and recognized Kenelm at once. He sprang forward and took Kenelm’s outstretched hand in both his own, and, in a voice between laughing and crying, exclaimed, “Jessie, Jessie, it is he!--he whom we pray for every night. God bless you! God bless and make you as happy as He permitted you to make me!” Before this little speech was faltered out, Jessie was by her husband’s side, and she added, in a lower voice, but tremulous with deep feeling, “And me too!” “By your leave, Will,” said Kenelm, and he saluted Jessie’s white forehead with a kiss that could not have been kindlier or colder if it had been her grandfather’s. Meanwhile the lady had risen noiselessly and unobserved, and stealing up to Kenelm, looked him full in the face. “You have another friend here, sir, who has also some cause to thank you--” “I thought I remembered your voice,” said Kenelm, looking puzzled. “But pardon me if I cannot recall your features. Where have we met before?”