When I went down stairs, I found that Mr. Osborne was to dine with us, and that Harry had not gone away; and after a little time, I found that I was very glad of Mr. Osborne's presence at table. My father spoke very little, and seemed more abstracted than usual. Harry was almost talkative, on the contrary, but he was less easy than I had seen him; and as for me, I said nothing, but watched them with a strange fascination, as if I was the spectator of some drama of which I must find out the secret. It was a relief to see Mr. Osborne's uninterrupted spirits, his usual manner and bearing. I wonder if they are happier than other people, those men who have nobody to disturb their equanimity, no one to put them out of temper, or break their hearts--but at any rate, it was a comfort to look at Mr. Osborne, and to see, whatever change might be in us, that there was none in him. After dinner, Harry left us, though only for a time, and when I had been by myself in the drawing-room for nearly an hour, Mr. Osborne came in, and approached me with something in his hand. When he opened it, it turned out to be another little gold chain with something hanging from it, very much like my little diamond ornament; but this was a very small miniature of a very young sweet face, so smiling, and loving, and gentle, that it was pleasant to look at it. "I think this is the fittest present I can make you," said Mr. Osborne. "You know who it is, Hester?" "No," I said; though from the look he gave me, I guessed at once. "It is very like her," he said in a low voice; "like what she was when I had a young man's fancy for that pretty sweet young face. No, Hester, you need not glance at me so wistfully, she did not break my heart; but I love you the better, my child, that she was your mother." "And this is my mother!" I said. It was younger than me, this innocent simple girlish face--my heart was touched by its gentleness, its happiness, the love and kindness in its sweet eyes--my tears began to fall fast upon the jewelled rim--this was my mother! and it was not a face to make any one unhappy. I did not think of thanking Mr. Osborne, I only thought of her. "She must have been very happy," I said, softly; we sank our voices speaking of her. "She was very happy then," said Mr. Osborne; "the sunshine was her very life, Hester; and when it faded away from her, she died." These words recalled me to myself. I could not permit him to go on, perhaps to blame my father--so I interrupted him to thank him very gratefully for his present. "She used to wear an ornament like this; and the miniature is from a sketch I myself made of her in her first youth," said Mr. Osborne. "I know your father has no portrait, but there is one in the possession of her friends." "Her friends! has she friends living?" I asked eagerly; "I do not know what it is to have relations. I wonder if they know anything of us."