ress. There were only Jane and Clara
left, and Jane was absorbed in her own family. I sometimes think Clara
might have understood and helped me; she was different from the rest and
so fond of me."

"It was a foolish thing to cut yourself off so thoroughly, my friend."

"You don't need to tell me that--but neither can you ever understand how
my pride was wounded, and how mortifying it was, after all my boasts of
the glories in store for us, to have to confess what I was subjected to,
that I might be fit to live among their high-mightinesses!"

"It certainly was hard, but was it right to let them think that, perhaps,
you had become too proud to associate with your own family?"

"Oh, I know, I know, it was a horrid thing to do, and I have been well
punished for it, but I felt, in my resentful shame, that I wanted to fly
from every one who had ever known me. It was so belittling--so
despicable! Some trials make us nobler, and awaken the sympathy of our
friends; other excite only ridicule. Mine were utterly ridiculous and
common to others though bitter to me. But I have suffered through my
pride--oh, how I have suffered!"

"You were always given to exaggerating things Anna--beg pardon! Lady----"

"No, no, use the old name--I like it! Aren't you the one friend left me?
I want no titles from you. They are worse than nonsense between such
life-long friends. And what a 'sounding brass' any title of mine must
seem to you, anyhow! But we're wandering from the subject. My sister
Clara wrote a peculiar hand, plain, large, and straight up and down, yet
rather handsome. I've never seen writing just like it--until a few days
ago--and after turning the matter over and over to no purpose, I
concluded to come to you. An envelope addressed to the Misses Hosmer,
and postmarked Portsmouth, England was blown along the deck to my side,
lately, and when I absently picked it up it was, apparently, to see my
sister's writing before me. I asked your daughter Faith who wrote that
address, and she said a lodger of her old nurse's, but could not tell the
name--had forgotten it. But she described my sister, Clara Leroy, as
perfectly as I could. What does it mean? More than that, she said she
and Hope both thought her an American. Is it possible my own Clara may
be hunting me up in England? It seems too good to believe!"

"It is strange!" assented the captain, with some excitement. "And to
think my girls have forgotten her na