"Mother, mother," she whispered, drawing back, "look, is not that a mark
just like mine?"

Thus appealed to, Mrs. Worthington, too, bent down, but, upon a closer
scrutiny, the mark seemed only a small, blue vein.

"She's pretty," she said. "I wonder why I feel so drawn toward her?"

'Lina was about to reply, when again the brown eyes looked up, and the
stranger asked hesitatingly:

"Where am I? And is he here! Is this his house?"

"Whose house?" Mrs. Worthington asked.

The girl did not answer at once, and when she did her mind seemed
wandering.

"I waited so long," she said, "but he never came again, only the letter
which broke my heart. Willie was a baby then, and I almost hated him for
a while, but he wasn't to blame. I wasn't to blame. I'm glad God gave me
Willie now, even if he did take his father from me."

Mrs. Worthington and her daughter exchanged glances, and the latter
abruptly asked:

"Where is Willie's father?"

"I don't know," came in a wailing sob from the depths of the pillow.

"Where did you come from?" was the next question. The young girl looked
up in some alarm, and answered meekly:

"From New York. I thought I'd never get here, but everybody was so kind
to me and Willie, and the driver said if 'twan't so late, and he so many
passengers, he'd drive across the fields. He pointed out the way and I
came on alone."

The color had faded from Mrs. Worthington's face, and very timidly she
asked again:

"Whom are you looking for? Whom did you hope to find?"

"Mr. Worthington. Does he live here?" was the frank reply; whereupon
'Lina drew herself up haughtily, exclaiming:

"I knew it. I've thought so ever since Hugh came home from New York."

'Lina was about to commence a tirade of abuse, when the mother
interposed, and with an air of greater authority than she generally
assumed toward her imperious daughter, bade her keep silence while she
questioned the stranger, gazing wonderingly from one to the other, as if
uncertain what they meant.

Mrs. Worthington had no such feelings for the girl as 'Lina entertained.

"It will be easier to talk with you," she said, leaning forward, "if I
know what to call you."

"Adah," was the response, and the brown eyes, swimming with tears,
sought the face of the questioner with a wistful eagerness, as if it
read there the unmistakable signs of a friend.

"Adah, you say. Well, then, Adah, why have you come to my son on such a
night as this, and what i