It was very late when they separated, for Mr. Howell was loath to leave his newly-recovered treasure, while Oliver was never weary of feasting his eyes upon Mildred’s beautiful, and now perfectly happy face. But they said good-night at last, Richard taking Oliver to his own room, where he could nurse his poor, bruised feet, while Mildred kept Edith with her, hugging her closer to her bosom as she thought: “She _is_ my sister.” At an early hour next morning the three assembled together again, and when the lumbering old stage rattled down the one long street, it carried Richard and Oliver, Mildred and Edith, the first two silent and thoughtful, the last two merry and glad as singing-birds, for the heart of one was full of “danfather Howell,” while the other thought only of Lawrence Thornton, and the blissful meeting awaiting her. CHAPTER XXI. THE MEETING. Dark night had closed in upon Beechwood, but in the sick-room a light was dimly burning, showing the white face of the invalid, who was sleeping quietly now. The crisis was passed, and weak as a little child he lay, powerless and helpless beneath the mighty weight of sorrow which had fallen upon him. Geraldine had been sitting with him, but when she saw that it was nine, she cautiously left the room, and stealing down the stairs, joined the Judge and Mr. Thornton in the parlor. Sinking into a chair and leaning her head upon it, she did not seem to hear the hasty step in the hall; but when Hepsy’s shrill voice said, “Good evenin’, gentle folks,” she looked up, apparently surprised to see the old lady there at that hour of the night. “Have you heard from Oliver?” she asked; and Hepsy answered: “Not a word. I’m gettin’ awful consarned; but that ain’t what brung me here. Feelin’ lonesome-like without Clubs, thinks to me, I’ll look over the chest where I keep Hannah’s things.” “An all-fired good way to get rid of the blues,” said the Judge, while Hepsy continued: “Amongst the things was a box, which must have been put away unopened, for I found in it this letter concerning Mildred,” and she held up the bit of paper which, having been nicely rubbed and smoked by Geraldine, looked old and rather soiled. “Let me see it,” said the Judge, and adjusting his spectacles, he read aloud a letter from Esther Bennett, telling Hannah Hawkins that Mildred was the child of Helen Thornton, and bidding her keep it a secret. “This confirms it,” he said. “There is no need now of your sifting the matter as we intended to do,” and he handed the half sheet to Mr. Thornton just as the sound of many feet was heard in the hall without. Richard, Oliver, Mildred and Edith had come! The latter being fast asleep, was deposited upon the floor, with Mildred’s satchel for a pillow, and while Mildred stole off upstairs, promising her father only to look into Lawrence’s room, and not to show herself to him, Richard and Oliver advanced into the parlor.