dily. In a little while she laid
aside the garment upon which she had begun to sew, and, leaning
forward, rested her head upon the table, sighing heavily as she did
so, and pressing one hand hard against her side, as if to relieve
pain. A tap at the door aroused her from this state of abstraction.
As she turned, the door was quietly opened, and the woman she had
seen at the tailor's a short time before, entered. She started to
her feet at this unexpected apparition, and gazed, with a look of
surprise, inquiry, and hope, upon her visitor.

"Can it be Mrs. Gaston? But no! no!" and the young creature shook
her head mournfully.

"Eugenia!" exclaimed Mrs. Gaston, springing forward, and instantly
the two were locked in each other's arms, and clinging together with
convulsive eagerness.

"But no, no! It cannot be my own Eugenia," said Mrs. Gaston, slowly
disengaging herself, and holding the young woman from her, while she
read over every feature of her pale, thin face. "Surely I am in a
strange dream!"

"Yes, I am your own Eugenia Ballantine! my more than mother! Or, the
wreck of her, which a wave of life's ever restless ocean has heaved
upon the shore."

"Eugenia Ballantine! How can it be! Lost years ago at sea, how can
she be in this room, and in this condition! It is impossible! And
yet you are, you must be, my own dear Eugenia."

"I am! I am!" sobbed the maiden, leaning her head upon the bosom of
Mrs. Gaston, and weeping until tears fell in large drops upon the
floor.

"But the sea gives not up its dead," said Mrs. Gaston, in a
doubting, bewildered tone.

"True--but the sea never claimed me as a victim."

"And your father?"

The maiden's face flushed a moment, while a shade of anguish passed
over it.

"At another time, I will tell you all. My mind is now too much
agitated and confused. But why do I find you here? And more than
all, why as a poor seamstress, toiling for little more than a crust
of bread and a cup of water? Where is your husband? Where are your
children?"

"Three years ago," replied Mrs. Gaston, "we removed to this city. My
husband entered into business, and was unsuccessful. He lost every
thing, and about a year ago died, leaving me destitute. I have
struggled on, since then, the best I could, but to little purpose.
The pittance I have been able to earn at the miserable prices we are
paid by the tailors has scarcely sufficed to keep my children from
starving. But one of them"--and the mot