scenes and images
which lay far remote, down the dim vista of years, obscured, almost
hidden, by later interest and more pressing cares. He looked in Mrs.
Beauchamp's face, and a new wonder met him in the glance of her large
brown eyes, so full of seriousness and benignity, while the smooth white
hand which yet held his in its calm friendly clasp seemed strangely like
one he had often pressed, but which had always trembled as he held it.
What could all this mean? Was he dreaming? He was aroused from the
reverie into which he had fallen by the same voice which had at first
arrested his attention.

"We must try to become acquainted as quickly as possible, Mr. Dalton,"
said Mrs. Beauchamp, "and learn to be friends for our children's sake."

Bowing low, he replied, "I have already learned from my daughter to know
and to esteem Mrs. Beauchamp."

The more Mr. Dalton saw of Mrs. Beauchamp, the more bewildered he
became. He fancied what appeared to him the strangest impossibilities,
and yet he found it impossible to believe that there was no ground for
his vague conjectures. His life had been one of incessant toil, lately
one of heavy distress and anxious cares, which had frequently sent him
to a sleepless pillow; but never had he spent a more wakeful night than
this, his first under the stately roof which his daughter--his darling
Fanny--called that of her home. He felt that he could not endure another
day of this uncertainty. He must be satisfied at all hazards, and he
resolved to make an opportunity, should such not spontaneously present
itself. But he was spared the necessity; for after breakfast the
following morning his hostess offered to show him the grounds--an offer
which, with his desired end in view, he eagerly accepted. They commenced
their walk in silence, and seemed as if both were suddenly under the
influence of some secret spell. At last, in a hoarse voice and a
constrained manner, Mr. Dalton abruptly inquired, "Pray, madam, may I
ask--though I fear the question may seem an unceremonious, perhaps a
strange one--if you have any relations of the name of Sherwood?"

He saw her start, as she answered with forced composure, "Yes, Mr.
Dalton, I have. It was indeed my own name before I married."

As she made this avowal, both stood still, it would seem by a sort of
tacit, mutual consent, and earnestly looked at each other.

Philip Hayforth Dalton was now a man past the meridian of life; his once
handsome and stil