“It was my mother,” she whispered. “Something tells me so, and that I shall find her--we shall find each other at last.” A young man had stepped upon the threshold of the outer door, and was sending a hurried glance about the now crowded room. His eye lighted up as it fell upon Ethel’s graceful figure and fair face, of which he could get but a partial view from where he stood. In another instant she rose and turned toward him. Their eyes met, she nodded and smiled, said a few words to her companions, then made her way through the throng to his side as he stepped back upon the porch, the other two following. Arrived in his vicinity, she introduced Mr. Alden to Mrs. and Miss Goodenough. A shaking of hands and exchange of a few commonplace sentences followed, and the four separated, Hetty and her mother returning to the Main Building, while Ethel and Espy sauntered side by side along the avenue in the direction of Memorial Hall, passing it and going some distance beyond. Although thousands of people were wandering about the houses and grounds, this spacious thoroughfare was not so crowded that they could not with ease keep to themselves and carry on a private conversation without danger of being overheard. In a few moments Espy had learned from Ethel all that Hetty had had to tell of her fellow-passengers of the previous day. His interest and excitement were only second to Ethel’s, and he shared both her conviction and her presentiment. “Yes,” he said eagerly, “it is your mother! I seem somehow to feel that it must be so; and now the question is how to bring you together.” “Yes,” sighed Ethel, “we might all be here every day while the Exhibition lasts, yet never meet. But no, I will not fear it! I will trust in God, who hath helped me hitherto,” she added, smiling brightly through gathering tears. Espy regarded her with admiring, loving eyes. “That is right!” he said cheerfully, “and I feel sure your faith will be rewarded. You are looking tired; let us sit down here and rest while we talk it over.” He had led her into a side path, and to a bench that stood in the shade of a wide-spreading tree. “It may sound conceited,” he said, “but I do believe that my pictures are now to play a conspicuous part in the drama and do you good service--as truly they ought, being mine, and I your humble slave,” he added sportively, seeking to win her from anxiety and care. She smiled, but sadly still, as she made answer: “I hope they may; but how is it to be managed? It is with them as with the rest of the Exposition--we and those we seek may visit them again and again, yet never at the same time.” He mused a moment. “They would perhaps think of inquiring for the artist in case your mother recognizes the likenesses, as I do feel pretty confident she will, at least if she has a good memory for faces; for surely Mrs. Kemper’s, and yours as a baby, would be likely to be strongly impressed upon it. And we must go there very often, singly or together.”