“Oh, I hope there is no mistake this time,” whispered Miss Rochester hoarsely, “for she was the only one who knew, and if she should turn up now it would be dreadful.” “I do not think there can be any mistake,” returned her mother, and then she proceeded to relate all that Madame Winthrop had told her, and concluded by remarking, “I never had such a shock as when I realized that Dr. Winthrop had married your cousin; it seemed simply impossible, and yet when she described her, I knew it must be true. She must have gone directly to America after disappearing so strangely. And then to think of her going into a hospital as a common nurse! Still she was always very skilful in your father’s sick-room. I hope the Winthrops will never learn the truth—it would ruin all your hopes of ever winning the doctor, if he should ever suspect.” “Nonsense, mamma!” returned Miss Rochester, who was beginning to recover her self-possession and her spirits; “how could they ever suspect the truth, when there is no one now to hint at it? Everything is coming out beautifully, at least I have strong hopes of it. At any rate you and I have had a grand good time this last year by ourselves. Salome was always such a bore and a marplot, in spite of her generosity. However, we shall have it all our own way now, and if I can only manage to win Truman Winthrop I shall have reached the summit of my ambition.” “What an avaricious creature you are, Sadie! But I am afraid Dr. Winthrop will never love you as well as he loved her. Madam says he idolized her,” said Mrs. Rochester regretfully. “I do not expect that he will; I do not want him to. I imagine it would be rather tiresome to be so idolized,” the young lady coldly returned; and yet, as she went back to her flowers, her eyes softened and a delicate flush rose to her cheek. A knock upon the door presently sounded, and a servant announced Mr. Norman Winthrop. The two women rose to welcome him, one with a smile and blush of pleasure, the other with a sigh and with a look of anxiety upon her pale face. CHAPTER XX. A FLIGHT FROM WAR AND PESTILENCE. Mr. Norman Winthrop was so like his brother, the physician, that, to a casual observer, he would have appeared to be the same man. He had the same symmetrical, stalwart form and noble carriage; the same fine, clear-cut intelligent face, and smile, and hair and eyes. But he lacked something that Dr. Winthrop possessed. Perhaps it was the grave, yet gentle dignity which always characterized the latter; or it may have been the frank, honest, straightforward look with which he met the glance of every one, which Norman had never possessed.