ee has been a mother to me since then," said she, dropping
her eyes to the floor.

"Then I will see the good woman who has taken your mother's place."
Mark stepped in as he spoke, and took a chair in the neat little
sitting room into which the door opened.

"She has gone over to Mr. Lofton's," said the girl, in reply, "and
won't be back for an hour."

"Has she, indeed? Then you know Mr. Lofton?"

"Oh, yes. We know him very well. He owns our little cottage."

"Does he! No doubt you find him a good landlord."

"He's a kind man," said the girl, earnestly.

"He is, as I have good reason to know," remarked the young man. "Mr.
Lofton is my grandfather."

The girl seemed much surprised at this avowal, and appeared less at
ease than before.

"And now, having told you who I am," said Mark, "I think I may be
bold enough to ask your name."

"My name is Jenny Lawson," replied the girl.

"A pretty name, that--Jenny--I always liked the sound of it. My
mother's name was Jenny. Did you ever see my mother? But don't
tremble so! Sit down, and tell your fluttering heart to be still."

Jenny sunk into a chair, her bosom heaving, and the crimson flush
still glowing on her cheeks, while Mark gazed into her face with
undisguised admiration.

"Who would have thought," said he to himself, "that so sweet a wild
flower grew in this out of the way place."

"Did you ever see my mother, Jenny?" asked the young man, after she
was a little composed.

"Mrs. Clifford?"

"Yes."

"Often."

"Then we will be friends from this moment, Jenny. If you knew my
mother then, you must have loved her. She has been dead now over
three years."

There was a shade of sadness in the young man's voice as he said
this.

"When did you see her last?" he resumed.

"The summer before she died she came up from New York and spent two
or three weeks here. I saw her then, almost every day."

"And you loved my mother? Say you did!"

The young man spoke with a rising emotion that he could not
restrain.

"Every body loved her," replied Jenny, simply and earnestly.

For a few moments Mark concealed his face with his hands, to hide
the signs of feeling that were playing over it; then looking up
again, he said--

"Jenny, because you knew my mother and loved her, we must be
friends. It was a great loss to me when she died. The greatest loss
I ever had, or, it may be, ever will have. I have been worse since
then. Ah me! If she had only lived!"

Agai