“It has struck me that your father might have been related to her second husband,” she said. She had determined after leaving Acacia Road to mention this as possible both to Rhoda and to Tom and Rose. Many people knew that Lydia had been Mrs. Sampson when she died, though Miss Merivale believed that she herself was the only person who was aware that her child had been named Rhoda. But she soon found that Rhoda knew very little of her father. She had lived so long with the M’Alisters that she had come to identify herself with them, and had never desired to learn more of her own people. She could scarcely remember her father, and could not remember his Christian name. “J. Sampson is written in my little Bible,” she said. “It is the only book I have which belonged to him. Our house was burnt down when I was about two years old, and all his books and papers were burnt with it. Uncle Tom and Mr. Harding used to call him Jack, I have heard Aunt Mary say.” “Who was Mr. Harding?” asked Miss Merivale quickly. “He was father’s partner for a little while. I don’t remember him at all. He is a rich man now, and lives in Adelaide.” “Your father came from Adelaide, Mrs. M’Alister told me. My sister lived in Melbourne. Then you can tell me nothing else?” Rhoda hesitated a moment. Miss Merivale’s voice had been cold and constrained, but there was a beseeching eagerness in her glance. She unclasped a little locket from her watch-chain and passed it across the table. “That and my little Bible is all I have. It must have been my mother’s, I think.” Miss Merivale caught up the little locket with trembling fingers. She rose and went to the window, and stood with her back to Rhoda, apparently examining it. But her eyes were too full of tears for her to see it plainly. She knew the little locket well. She herself had given it to Lydia one birthday. It was her own hair under the glass, with the ring of tiny pearls round it. All doubt vanished from her mind. She was certain now that Rhoda was her niece. She came back to the side of the table where Rhoda was sitting, and put her hand on her shoulder as she gave her back the locket. “Thank you for letting me see it, my dear,” she said in a voice that trembled a good deal in spite of the intense effort she was making to hide her agitation. “And now can you make yourself happy in the garden for a little while? I want you to stay to luncheon with me. I will talk to you afterwards of the work I want you to do for me. And you must tell me more about yourself. Try and think of me as a friend, my dear.”