"Not more than I am!" exclaimed the good creature. Notwithstanding the loss she expected to sustain through the discovery which had been made, she had schooled herself to rejoice in the happiness which had come to her child. "But," she added, "you, my dear, will be more delighted still, when you hear the news I have to tell." As she spoke, she led the young secretary to a chair, and, having caused her to be seated, sat down on another chair by her side. Then she took her companion's hand and held it tenderly in her lap. "My dear, I want to ask you something." The good lady tried to be calm, but her tones grew tremulous as she spoke. Miss Owen, too, was becoming excited, in spite of herself. "Yes, mother dear," and the girl seemed to put special and loving emphasis on the word "mother." "Do you remember," continued Mrs. Burton, "how, when you were all at Daisy Lane, at the opening of the 'Home,' we were talking about Mr. Horn having lost his little girl in some mysterious fashion; and you said, laughing, what fun it would be, if you turned out to be that very little girl?" "Yes, mother," was the reply, uttered in low and agitated tones, "I remember very well." "You didn't think that such a wonderful thing would ever come to pass, did you, dear?" asked Mrs. Burton, gently stroking the back of the plump little brown hand, which lay passive in her lap. "No," replied the girl, "I certainly did not; and it was just a mad joke, of course." As she spoke her whole frame quivered, and she made as though she would have withdrawn her hand and risen to her feet. Mrs. Burton tightened her grasp upon the fluttering hand in her lap, and gently restrained the agitated girl. "I haven't finished yet, dear," she said. "You know the saying that 'many a true word is spoken in jest'?" "Yes, yes----" "Well--try to be calm, my child--it has been found out----" "I know what you are going to say, mother," broke in the young girl. "It is that I have found my father--my very own; though I can never forget the only father I have known these years, and I haven't found another mother, and don't want to." Then the woman and the child--for she was little more--became locked in a close embrace. After some minutes, Mrs. Burton unclasped the young arms from her neck, and, sitting hand in hand with her adopted daughter, she told her all the wondrous tale. "So you see, my child," she concluded, "your name is not Owen after all; it is not even Mary Ann." "No," said the girl, with a bewitching touch of scorn. "Mary Ann Owen, forsooth! I always had my doubts. Horn is not much better in itself. But it is my father's name; and Marian is all that could be desired. And so I really am that little Marian of whom I have heard so many charming things! How sweet! But, mother, you must be the very same to me as ever; and I must find room for two fathers now, instead of one." "Yes, my dear, I feel sure you will not love us any the less for this great change."