Mr. Withers received Sophie with visible pleasure and affection; drawing her to his bosom and pressing a kiss upon her lips. But when he stooped to welcome her little charge Rosalia, he suddenly drew back, shaded his eyes with his hands, and gazed at her; then recovering himself, he welcomed the orphan with a few words of encouragement and re-assurance. After the children were in bed that night, and while Withers and Sophie sat by the parlor fire, he said, as if half musing, “The same intense blue eyes, the same golden hair, except that both are softer.” Then suddenly turning to Sophie, and speaking earnestly, he said—“Tell me, my guardian angel, is it an illusion of my wayward imagination, or does Rosalia resemble—resemble—?” “Raymond?” suggested Sophie, with tact. “Yes, Raymond,” he replied quickly. “You have seen it then, too?” “Yes, she _does_ resemble Raymond—but that may be from her having the same colored hair and eyes, and the same delicately fair skin—which she takes from her mother, my sister Rosalia, who was of that complexion.” “Yes—but the features, the expression, that peculiar arch of the delicate upper lip, that sweeping curve of the upper lids falling over ‘eyes whose light might fix the glance of any seraph gazing not on God,’ and the elegantly carved hand and arm, and foot—the very form and features of—of—” he paused and sighed deeply—“of Fanny Raymond. Yes, of Fanny Raymond, as I knew her when a child—except that this child has more softness, tenderness—more lymph, if one might use the expression.” “Why do you not tell me all about it, Mr. Withers; then you would feel better, then there would be freer conversation between us; no starts, broken sentences and misapprehensions.” “Why do you wish to pry into my secrets?” asked he angrily, and rising, paced the floor with moody air and a dark brow. After a while he returned and sat down. Sophie went and sat beside him—and obtaining possession of his hand caressed it as she said gently, “I do not wish to pry into your secrets, believe me I do not—I only wish to give you peace; after so long a time, do you not know me for your friend?” “Well, then, Sophie, do not exasperate me by questions of my past life; at some periods I have very little self-control, as you very well know.”