So did the Sea-flower gather together the broken threads of this family, weaving them closer with that golden thread of tender remembrance of him who had gone to await them for a little in that happier home above; this family, of which she had never the slightest suspicion but that they were of her own flesh and blood; and as she sat with her hand clasped within that of her mother’s, reading from that blessed book, “Come unto me all ye that are weary,” Mrs. Grosvenor could not but notice the striking resemblance which she bore to those lovely features of the miniature, which was found within the golden band.  The child was growing to resemble her unknown mother, and were there any who had ever known the parents, to see their child, they could not but have discovered her descent.  As the thought came to Mrs. Grosvenor’s mind, she shuddered; and she asked herself if it could ever be that her darling should be torn from her? if another cloud would arise, hiding one more cherished one from her sight?  But why should she tremble at the thought? she well knew there could be nothing, not even the discovery of relatives, which could lessen her daughter’s love for her mother.  Not a word had ever been said to the child in regard to her mysterious parentage.  Captain Grosvenor had thought it best not to reveal the fact until she should have become of a suitable age to fully realize her situation.  Those who had known the circumstances of her discovery, had gradually come to look upon her as the child of those who treasured her as if she had been their own; and the playmates of her childhood days had never mistrusted there was a mystery hanging about her “romantic” name,—­Sea-flower.  Harry, indeed, had never forgotten his delight at having a new sister; and as they had grown up together, he had often looked into her dreamy eyes, and thought, “How unlike she is to any one else; she is too good to be my sister;” and as the reality came to him, he had banished the remembrance, ere it had taken to itself a form.  The original Vingo had never lost sight of “that commentful” day, as he termed it; not a day passed but he made some allusion to “dat wee gem among de sea-weeds,” and the Sea-flower would open wide her eyes, as from his wild laugh she caught his broken sentences, and would wonder why the negro’s words should meet with such a response within her own bosom.  The child’s dress, together with the ornaments which had been found upon her, had been laid carefully away, reserved until she should have become familiar with her history.  But Mrs. Grosvenor, since the loss of her husband, had weighed the question in her mind, whether she should still keep the secret from her, for the child’s mind was much beyond her years, and she questioned whether it would be for the best to permit her to grow to maturer years thus undeceived; but she reflected that such had been the design of her husband, and, therefore, for the present, the subject was dismissed from her mind.