at it was Freckles over again. Still, it was a matter of the
very greatest importance, and she must be sure; so she looked into the
beautiful woman's face.

"Are you his wife?" she asked.

"Yes," said the woman, "I am his wife."

"Well," said the Angel judicially, "the Bird Woman says no one in the
whole world knows all a man's bignesses and all his littlenesses as his
wife does. What you think of him should do for me. Do you like him?"

The question was so earnestly asked that it met with equal earnestness.
The dark head moved caressingly against Lord O'More's sleeve.

"Better than anyone in the whole world," said Lady O'More promptly.

The Angel mused a second, and then her legal tinge came to the fore
again.

"Yes, but have you anyone you could like better, if he wasn't all
right?" she persisted.

"I have three of his sons, two little daughters, a father, mother, and
several brothers and sisters," came the quick reply.

"And you like him best?" persisted the Angel with finality.

"I love him so much that I would give up every one of them with dry eyes
if by so doing I could save him," cried Lord O'More's wife.

"Oh!" cried the Angel. "Oh, my!"

She lifted her clear eyes to Lord O'More's and shook her head.

"She never, never could do that!" she said. "But it's a mighty big thing
to your credit that she THINKS she could. I guess I'll tell you why I
came."

She laid down the paper, and touched the portrait.

"When you were only a boy, did people call you Freckles?" she asked.

"Dozens of good fellows all over Ireland and the Continent are doing it
today," answered Lord O'More.

The Angel's face wore her most beautiful smile.

"I was sure of it," she said winningly. "That's what we call him, and he
is so like you, I doubt if any one of those three boys of yours are
more so. But it's been twenty years. Seems to me you've been a long time
coming!"

Lord O'More caught the Angel's wrists and his wife slipped her arms
around her.

"Steady, my girl!" said the man's voice hoarsely. "Don't make me think
you've brought word of the boy at this last hour, unless you know
surely."

"It's all right," said the Angel. "We have him, and there's no chance
of a mistake. If I hadn't gone to that Home for his little clothes, and
heard of you and been hunting you, and had met you on the street, or
anywhere, I would have stopped you and asked you who you were, just
because you are so like him. It's all right. I can