“Hetty! you here? and your mother too?” cried Ethel, who had been made aware of their unexpected vicinity by the sound of the words and voices so familiar to her ear two years ago. “Yes,” said Mrs. Goodenough, “we were just looking at those splendid jewels from New York.” “We have just come to the city,” said Hetty; “arrived last night; and oh, I am so glad to have met you! for I have something to tell you.” The eager, animated look and tone said that it was something of importance, and Ethel’s heart gave a wild bound. Was it news that would aid her in her quest? She drew out her watch. “One o’clock: a good hour for lunch. Come with me to Public Comfort. You must be my guests.” “Thank you!” and they went with her. “Are you here alone?” asked Mrs. Goodenough as they crossed the avenue. “I have often come alone,” returned Ethel, smiling. “A friend was with me this morning; left me half an hour ago, and will meet me half an hour hence at Public Comfort.” “A very particular friend,” thought Hetty to herself, noticing the light in Ethel’s eye, the deepening of the color on her cheek, as she mentioned him. She had heard of Espy, knew something of what had been the state of affairs between the lovers. “My dear, has he come back?” she asked in a delighted whisper. Ethel’s blush and smile were sufficient to assure her that such was the case, and her kindly, affectionate heart was overjoyed. They were so fortunate as to find an unoccupied corner in the ladies’ parlor at Public Comfort, seated themselves about a table, ordered their lunch, and while waiting for and eating it did a good deal of talking. Hetty was the chief speaker. She began the instant they were seated: “We’ve been to the sea-shore, mother and I, and it’s about some people we saw on the train, as we came up to the city, that I want to tell you, Floy. Such a nice-looking family--father, mother, one son, and two daughters. And the strangest thing is that the mother and the oldest girl look very much like you.” At these words Ethel’s heart beat so fast and loud it seemed to her they all must hear it, and her hand trembled so that she was obliged to set down the cup she was in the act of lifting to her lips. Hetty saw her agitation, and made haste with her story. “The girl looked about fifteen. The mother, I should say, might be anywhere between thirty and forty, and very handsome; has the sweetest face! Her husband, a noble-looking man, watched over and waited on her as if it were the greatest pleasure in life to do so--with a sort of pitying tenderness, so it seemed to me. And I saw her give him such a look once, as if she thought he was--well, as mother says, ‘superior to the best.’ But when she was not speaking or listening to him there would come a far-off look into her eyes, an expression as if she had known some great sorrow, some life-long trial that she had schooled herself to bear with patient resignation.”