So happy was she that she proceeded to cut off her wonderful hair, just below the level of the shoulders, without the slightest twinge of regret. “I wish I had Audry’s long mirror here,” was the only thought that troubled her. Even this was unexpectedly gratified, for in the morning she was down first and discovered a long mirror in a black oak frame, one of the treasures of the hostel. As she was looking at herself Ian appeared. The sight cost him a pang. “Oh, child,” he exclaimed, “what have you done?” “I’ve only made myself into a real boy,” she answered. Ian bit his lips; he would not have thought that he could have minded so much. As they were standing there the door suddenly opened and a boy came in. “Hullo, Wilfred! is that you?” “Yes, master, I have brought a letter from Walter Margrove.” Ian took the letter and went over to the window seat on the far side of the room to read it. “Wilfred,” thought Aline; “Wilfred”; it had a familiar sound before, when Ian used the name on the road:--and he came from Kirkoswald,--there was too a tale to be told as Ian had said,--and Ian himself had been using an assumed name. Could it by any chance be the boy of little Joan’s sad story? He held out his hand bashfully, and bent his head. As Aline took it he said;--“I humbly crave your pardon, but I believe now I know who you are.” Aline blushed and then she said quietly, “You have probably guessed rightly. Whom do you think I am?” He looked at her for a moment. How could there possibly be any doubt; there could not be two such beautiful people in the world; and he had heard Walter and Andrew, besides Ian, allude to her unparalleled loveliness. “You are Mistress Gillespie,” he said, and bowed awkwardly. Aline smiled sadly. “Yes,” she said, “I am and I believe I have just discovered who you are. Your name is not really Ackroyd, is it?” “Yes, Mistress, it is,” he answered. Aline looked baffled, but he continued,--“However, I have never been known as Ackroyd, as I lived with an Aunt whose name was Johnstone.” “I thought so,” she replied softly. “Come sit over here, for I have a sorrowful tale for you.” She took his hand and the boy followed, lost in wonder and admiration. “I used to know poor little Joan,” she said very gently. “Yes, Mistress, I had guessed as much; we heard in Kirkoswald what had happened,” and the boy’s eyes filled with tears. “I know that you did everything for her that could be done and that she loved you.” Aline felt relieved, as she was spared the worst part of her task. “She often used to speak of you, Wilfred, and before she went away, she gave me her greatest treasures which you had given her long before; and I was to try and return them to you. But, alas, I had to flee from armed men at a moment’s notice in peril of my life and I have them not. But they are safe and one day I will fulfil my charge.” She held out her hand. “Oh, I am so sorry for you,” she said, “but my words are too feeble to say what I feel.”