What could all this mean? Was he dreaming? He was aroused from the reverie into which he had fallen by the same voice which had at first arrested his attention. "We must try to become acquainted as quickly as possible, Mr. Dalton," said Mrs. Beauchamp, "and learn to be friends for our children's sake." Bowing low, he replied, "I have already learned from my daughter to know and to esteem Mrs. Beauchamp." The more Mr. Dalton saw of Mrs. Beauchamp, the more bewildered he became. He fancied what appeared to him the strangest impossibilities, and yet he found it impossible to believe that there was no ground for his vague conjectures. His life had been one of incessant toil, lately one of heavy distress and anxious cares, which had frequently sent him to a sleepless pillow; but never had he spent a more wakeful night than this, his first under the stately roof which his daughter--his darling Fanny--called that of her home. He felt that he could not endure another day of this uncertainty. He must be satisfied at all hazards, and he resolved to make an opportunity, should such not spontaneously present itself. But he was spared the necessity; for after breakfast the following morning his hostess offered to show him the grounds--an offer which, with his desired end in view, he eagerly accepted. They commenced their walk in silence, and seemed as if both were suddenly under the influence of some secret spell. At last, in a hoarse voice and a constrained manner, Mr. Dalton abruptly inquired, "Pray, madam, may I ask--though I fear the question may seem an unceremonious, perhaps a strange one--if you have any relations of the name of Sherwood?" He saw her start, as she answered with forced composure, "Yes, Mr. Dalton, I have. It was indeed my own name before I married." As she made this avowal, both stood still, it would seem by a sort of tacit, mutual consent, and earnestly looked at each other. Philip Hayforth Dalton was now a man past the meridian of life; his once handsome and still striking countenance was deeply marked with lines of sorrow and care, and his dark luxuriant locks were thinned and grizzled, while his features, which had long been schooled to betray no sign of emotion of a transient or superficial nature, were now, as his eyes met those of Mrs. Beauchamp's, convulsed as by the working of a strong passion. A slight blush tinged Emily's usually pale cheek; she drew a rapid breath, and her voice faltered perceptibly as she said at last, "Yes, Philip Hayforth, I am Emily Sherwood!" Not immediately did he reply either by word or look--not till she had asked somewhat eagerly, "We are friends, Mr. Dalton--are we not?"