“Mamma, such news as I have to tell you—you cannot guess, I am sure!” she cried as she threw herself into a low rocker opposite the elder woman and began to remove her beautifully fitting gloves. She, too, was tall and slight, elegant in figure, perfect in her bearing; but, unlike her companion, she was very fair, with light hair, deep blue eyes, and a faultless complexion; and though her features were cast in a less delicate mould than her mother’s, she was an exquisitely beautiful girl. She, too, was clad in black, but it was very becoming to her perfect complexion. “News, Sadie?” returned the elder lady as her eyes rested with a look of pride and pleasure on the graceful figure opposite her. “I hope it is home news, then, for I am really hungry for something American.” “It is decidedly American,” cried the young lady, with a clear, exultant laugh, “for I have met a gentleman from New York this morning.” “Who?” demanded her mother eagerly. “Guess.” “I never could; don’t torture me with suspense, Sadie.” “Well, then, a no less important personage than Dr. Truman Winthrop, the man whom Milton Hamilton decreed should be the husband of Albert Rochester’s daughter,” the girl answered, her blue eyes gleaming with a light that made them seem almost black, a peculiar smile wreathing her red lips. “Sadie, you do not mean it!” exclaimed Mrs. Rochester, for the woman was no other than the widow of the late Albert Rochester, who had covenanted with his friend, Milton Hamilton, to unite, by the marriage of his only daughter with the namesake and heir of the latter, the magnificent estates of Brookside and Englehurst into one inheritance. “Yes, I do,” responded the girl, with increasing animation. “I was in the Luxembourg with Mrs. Savage and Nell, when who should come along but Nell’s particular friend, Mr. Tillinghast—you have heard her speak of him—and with him another man, whom he introduced as Dr. Winthrop. You should have seen his start and look of surprise when he was presented to me,” and the young lady completed her sentence with an amused ripple of laughter. “It is a little strange that we should always have thought of him by the name of Hamilton until last autumn, when he wrote to your father that he was coming abroad to meet us, and signed himself Truman Winthrop,” said Mrs. Rochester musingly. “Well, I do not know, mamma; we have not known much about the Winthrops. Papa never met them. The most we have known was that one of the sons had been named for Mr. Hamilton, who had adopted and made him his heir; so it was natural, I suppose, that we should think of him as a Hamilton. It is possible that he resumed his family name again after his uncle’s death,” Miss Rochester argued thoughtfully.