“She is in heaven,” mused the artist.

At this moment the door opened, and who should enter but Clarence Delwood, who was much surprised to find Natalie thus unattended, in earnest conversation with the mysterious artist.  She arose as he entered, and presented him to the gentleman, but she had not yet learned his name.  The artist presented his card to Delwood, assuming the same frigid manner which had become his nature.  Delwood gave one glance at the Madonna.

“How is this, sir,” asked he, in an excited manner, “that you have made use of this lady’s face to attract the notice of a vulgar public to your works?  Who gave you authority for such assurance as this, sir?”

“Calm yourself, Clarence,” said the Sea-flower, mildly, “the gentleman had never seen me, to his knowledge, until this morning.  It rather becomes us to apologize for this intrusion upon the sacred memory of his child.”

Mr. Delwood listened with astonishment to the information which we have just learned, and his eyes wandered from the beautiful Madonna to the no less beautiful being, whom he hoped, at no distant day, to call his own, while a thought filled his soul with delight, and he said to himself,—­“I knew that she was infinitely above me, though outward circumstances would make her of no particular distinction.”

“Yes, there is a meaning in this, a mystery to be solved.  Who is she?—­this pure being.  And your mother still lives,” mused the artist; “do you resemble her?”

“I am unlike any one of my family, so much so that strangers have noted it.”

“And your father?”

“Is in heaven.”

“Truly,” mused the gentleman, “and your sainted mother likewise.”

“Permit me to ask your address, gentle lady,” said the artist, as his visitors prepared to retire.

“And in return you will allow me to come every day, and look upon this dear face?”

“You are the only person whom I have bade a welcome to my presence for years;” and bidding them a “good morning,” the artist retired to brood over other than his sorrows.

It was then that Natalie remembered the poor black woman, though not a thought of the object of her own visit thither, crossed her mind.  The woman was silently contemplating the Sea-flower, as if she were an angel of mercy.

“Where do you live, my good woman?” inquired Natalie.

“One spot am not my home more dan anoder, missy; de wide earth am my home.  But tell me, missy, did ole Phillis hear you straight, or am she so warped troughout, dat she hot get de right comprehensions?”

“What I have told you, you may rely upon; come here in a day or two again, and you shall hear farther.”

“Bress de Lor’! bress de good Lor’, for sending de bright angel!” shouted the woman, as she ran out of the house, throwing about her long arms, (now freed from slavery’s chains,) and making sundry other uncouth manifestations of her joy, so characteristic of her race, which caused a policeman to realize the dignity of his station, by actually opening one eye, and puffing diligently at the cloud of tobacco smoke which encircled the other.