Her mind went back to that morning when her brother had laid before her several photographs of his lovely wife, and she was almost sure—even though she had never looked upon them since—that there was a resemblance between that face and this; and the child’s name was the same, too. But no; it could not be; and she banished the suspicion from her as quickly as it came. It was only a “singular coincidence,” she told herself. “Virgie,” she repeated, trying, but in vain, to resume her light tone, “I suppose that stands for Virginia. Well, my little maiden, do you know how kind your mother has been to me while I have been so ill?” “Mamma is always kind to everybody,” was the grave response, and Virgie wondered to see her in this strange, self-contained mood. She was usually very free and confiding with every one. “What a loyal-hearted little girl!” laughed Lady Linton; “how thankful I am that you were spared for her and she to you from that dreadful accident. Your papa, too, must be a very happy man to know that both his treasures are safe.” “I haven’t any papa.” said Virgie, with a soft little sigh. A painful thrill shot through Lady Linton’s nerves at this, and she darted another look at the child’s mother. It was very strange! She wore no widow’s weeds, she was not even in black! Instead, she was looking very lovely in her stylish traveling suit of dark gray, with a knot of pale blue ribbon at her throat and another in her hat. “Yes, indeed,” the mother interrupted, not liking to have the child questioned further, “we are very grateful for having escaped such danger. We came to tell you that we are going away to-day, though I would gladly remain, if I could be of use to anyone, and duty did not call me elsewhere.” “To-day!” exclaimed Lady Linton, in surprise. “I shall be very sorry to part with you,” and her under lip quivered, for at that instant she thought of the debt she owed the beautiful woman. Virgie bowed. She was laboring under a fearful constraint. She would gladly have avoided this last interview, but something that impelled her to come, if for nothing more than to let her ladyship see her brother’s child, even though she was unconscious of the relationship existing between them. “Is your maid doing well?” Lady Linton inquired, after a somewhat awkward pause. “Thanks; yes, much better than I had hoped she would. She feels quite able to travel, is rather homesick, and longs to get away from this dreary place.” “It is a lonely place. I, too, shall be glad to rejoin my friends. I expect someone will come to me to-morrow, and the physician thinks that by the end of another week, I may also be able to get away. Oh, must you go?” the invalid concluded, regretfully, as Virgie arose to leave.