Here Mr. Luigi, who had taken up one of those old books of my father’s, which Harry in his carelessness had left upon the table, uttered a very brief instantly suppressed exclamation. I wonder what _he_ could have discovered! It was the copy of Racine, which I have before mentioned as among papa’s books, on which was written the name of Sarah Mortimer. Sarah Mortimer! Here were we all strangers, or almost strangers, to each other, all apparently startled by the sound and sight of this name. What could the Italian have to do with Sarah Mortimer? she who broke poor papa’s heart, and whom we had found out so suddenly to-day? “This lady?” said Mr. Luigi, holding up the book to me with a slight tremulousness, “Madame will not think me impertinent; does she live?” “Indeed,” said I, with a shiver of agitation, “I cannot tell. I do not know anything about her; her name on that book and the drawing is all we know. I think she is a ghost. Do you too know her name? Sara, tell us, for pity’s sake, who is this Sarah Mortimer of the Park?” Sara stared at the book with still greater amazement than she had shown at the drawing. “She is my godmamma,” said the girl, in a disturbed, amazed tone. “She is Miss Mortimer of the Park. Since you all know her name, you all know that certainly. How is it you know her? why did you not tell me? Is there any mystery? it all seems very strange to me.” “Then it is that lady,” exclaimed Mr. Luigi--“it is that lady I did meet in the village.” “No,” said Sara, recovering herself in a moment; “you met my other godmamma, her sister. She told me she had met you. May I ask if you found the lady in Manchester? Godmamma was very much interested and anxious to know. Did you find her? have you heard where she is to be found?” Mr. Luigi looked at the book once more; then closed it down firmly with his hand; then gazed a little anxiously in Sara’s face. “Have I found the lady?” he repeated like an echo. “Mademoiselle, I do not know.”