_Hattie._ “Yes; for I remember a talk about it between the father and the mother. The father had blue eyes, the mother gray. The mother playfully boasted that the eye of _her_ color was the child’s _right_ eye; to which the father replied, ‘But the _left_ is nearest the heart.’ And so, sir, remembering that conversation, I can swear positively that the child’s left eye was the blue one.” “Rather a striking concurrence of testimony!” said Onslow. “I wonder I should never have detected the oddity.” “Let me remark,” replied Kenrick, “that it required a near observation to note the difference in the hue of the eyes. Three feet off you would hardly discriminate. The depth of shade is nearly equal in both. You might be acquainted with Perdita a twelvemonth and never heed the peculiarity. So do not, cousin, take blame to yourself for inattention.” “Do you remember, Charles,” said Vance, “our visit to the hospital the day after our landing in New York?” “Yes, I shall never forget the scene,” replied Kenrick. “Do you remember,” continued Vance, “among the nurses quite a young girl, who, while carrying a salver of food to a wounded soldier, was asked by you if you should not relieve her of the burden?” “Yes; and her reply was, ‘Where are your shoulder-straps?’ And she eyed me from head to foot with provoking coolness. ‘I’m on my way to Washington for them,’ answered I. ‘Then you may take the salver,’ said the little woman, graciously thrusting it into my hands.” “Well, Charles, when I was in New York last week, I saw that same little woman again, and found out who she is. How strangely, in this kaleidoscope of events which we call the world, we are brought in conjunction with those persons between whose fate and our own Chance or Providence seems to tender a significance which it would have us heed and solve! This girl was a Miss Charlton, the daughter of that same Ralph Charlton who holds the immense estate that rightfully belongs to our lost Clara.” “Would he be disposed to surrender it?” asked Onslow. “Probably not. I took pains while in New York to make inquiries. I learnt that his domestic _status_ is far from enviable. He himself, could he follow his heart’s proclivities, would be a miser. Then he could be happy and contented—in his way. But this his wife will not allow. She forces him by the power of a superior will into expenses at which his heart revolts, although they do not absorb a fifth part of his income. The daughter shrinks from him with an innate aversion which she cannot overcome. And so, unloving and unloved, he finds in his own base avarice the instrument that scourges him and keeps him wretched.” “I should not feel much compunction in compelling such a man to unclutch his riches,” remarked Onslow. “It will be very difficult to do that, I fear,” said Vance, “even supposing we can find and identify the true heir.” “We must find her, cost what it may!” cried Kenrick. “Cousin, take me to New Orleans with you.”