be cleared away from the eyes of Mrs. Beauchamp, and in that slight
young girl she beheld the breathing image of one whom she had once
intimately known and dearly loved--in those indignant accents she seemed
to recognize the tones of a voice long since heard, but the echoes of
which yet lingered in her heart. Why she had so loved Fanny Dalton was
no mystery now--she saw in her but the gentler type of him whom she had
once believed the master of her destiny--even of Philip Hayforth, long
unheard of, but never forgotten. But what connection could there be
between Philip Hayforth and Fanny Dalton? and whence this strange
resemblance, which lay not so much in form or in feature, as in that
nameless, intangible similarity of expression, gesture, manner, and
voice, so frequently exhibited by members of the same family.

As soon as Mrs. Beauchamp could quit the table, she withdrew to her own
room, where she remained for some time in deep meditation, the result of
which was a determination to fathom the mystery, if mystery there was.
It was just possible, too, that the attempt might assist her to find a
key to the riddle of her own destiny.

Accordingly, on the afternoon of the same day, she took an opportunity
of being alone with Miss Dalton and her son, to say to the former--"I
think you told me, my dear, that your father was alive?"

"Oh yes, thank God, _he_ is alive! How I wish you knew him, Mrs.
Beauchamp! I think you would like him, and I am _sure_ he would like and
admire you."

"Does your father at all resemble you in appearance?"

"I am not sure. I have been told that I was like him, and I always
consider it a great compliment; for papa is still a very handsome man,
and was of course even handsomer when he was young, and before his hair
became grey. I have a miniature likeness of him, taken before his
marriage, which I have with me, and will show you, if you will so far
indulge my vanity."

Mrs. Beauchamp having replied that she should like exceedingly to see
it, Fanny tripped away, and returned in a few minutes, carrying in her
hand a handsome, but old-fashioned, morocco case. Mrs. Beauchamp had
never seen it before, but she well remembered having given directions
for the making of a case of that very size, shape, and color, for a
miniature which was to have been painted for her. Her heart began to
beat. She seemed upon the brink of a discovery. Fanny now opened the
case, and placing it before Mrs. Beauchamp,