The room was filled presently with a curious crowd who heard in wonder the strange story, and then carried the dead and the living home again through the darkening twilight. Otho and his father were buried side by side, and kind friends cared for the helpless Maury family. Mrs. Vere de Vere, always Maybelle’s stanch friend, adopted the girl as a daughter, so she never missed the wealth she prized so much. In time Maybelle made the grand match Mrs. Vere de Vere had schemed for so long, but it was long years first, and when she married the rich politician, it was for ambition, not love. All her proud husband’s caresses were not worth as much to her as the memory of one pitying kiss. CHAPTER LII. ALL THAT FLOY HAD LONGED FOR IN OTHER DAYS WAS HERS NOW.--LUCKY LITTLE MORTAL! The Beresfords returned to New York the next day sick at heart and dispirited, for the mystery of Floy’s fate was more inexplicable than ever. In twenty-four hours after their return Lord Miller’s card was received. Mrs. Beresford was out, and St. George was ill again from the fever of a baffled hope. So Alva went down alone to meet the handsome Englishman, and their mutual attraction toward each other was strengthened by this interview. His earnest sympathy with her brother tempted her to confide the story of Floy to his sympathetic ears. He listened in wonder to it all, and then she ended with a sigh: “He is ill again, my poor brother, and no mortal physician can heal the wound from which he suffers--the pain of hopeless love.” He looked at the bright, beautiful face, wondering how she should know so much of what she spoke, then he said, abruptly: “I wonder if your brother would see me a little while if I could give him good news?” “Good news?” she faltered. “Yes, of this girl--this Floy Fane. I know where she is to-day.” Alva almost fainted with joy. He never forgot her looks of gratitude and her expressions of joy. “Come with me!” she cried; and led him to her brother’s rooms. “I have brought you a physician with news to make you well!” she cried, radiantly, to the pale, languid invalid. And then Lord Miller told them of his _rencontre_ with Floy the night of his return to New York, and his discovery that she was his own child. We must pass over their delight and amazement when the romantic story was all told, and he ended by saying: “I left Floy at the hotel, very busy looking over a few thousand dollars’ worth of finery she purchased yesterday, but if you both will return with me, I think she will be glad to see you.” “Are you well enough dear?” inquired Alva, looking at her brother doubtfully. He leaned upon her, his face flushed, his eyes alight with joy. “I am a new man. I do not feel as if I ever had been ill,” he repeated, joyfully. So leaving an explanation for their parents, should they return in their absence, Alva and her brother accompanied Lord Miller to the Fifth Avenue Hotel in search of Floy.