No one noticed the deep flush on Iola’s face as she entered the store, nor the subdued, quiet manner with which she applied herself to her tasks.  She was living over again the past, with its tender, sad, and thrilling reminiscences.

In the evening Dr. Gresham called on Iola.  She met him with a pleasant welcome.  Dr. Gresham gazed upon her with unfeigned admiration, and thought that the years, instead of detracting from, had only intensified, her loveliness.  He had thought her very beautiful in the hospital, in her gray dress and white collar, with her glorious wealth of hair drawn over her ears.  But now, when he saw her with that hair artistically arranged, and her finely-proportioned form arrayed in a dark crimson dress, relieved by a shimmer of lace and a bow of white ribbon at her throat, he thought her superbly handsome.  The lines which care had written upon her young face had faded away.  There was no undertone of sorrow in her voice as she stood up before him in the calm loveliness of her ripened womanhood, radiant in beauty and gifted in intellect.  Time and failing health had left their traces upon Dr. Gresham.  His step was less bounding, his cheek a trifle paler, his manner somewhat graver than it was when he had parted from Iola in the hospital, but his meeting with her had thrilled his heart with unexpected pleasure.  Hopes and sentiments which long had slept awoke at the touch of her hand and the tones of her voice, and Dr. Gresham found himself turning to the past, with its sad memories and disappointed hopes.  No other face had displaced her image in his mind; no other love had woven itself around every tendril of his soul.  His heart and hand were just as free as they were the hour they had parted.

“To see you again,” said Dr. Gresham, “is a great and unexpected pleasure.”

“You had not forgotten me, then?” said Iola, smiling.

“Forget you!  I would just as soon forget my own existence.  I do not think that time will ever efface the impressions of those days in which we met so often.  When last we met you were intending to search for your mother.  Have you been successful?”

“More than successful,” said Iola, with a joyous ring in her voice.  “I have found my mother, brother, grandmother, and uncle, and, except my brother, we are all living together, and we are so happy.  Excuse me a few minutes,” she said, and left the room.  Iola soon returned, bringing with her her mother and grandmother.

“These,” said Iola, introducing her mother and grandmother, “are the once-severed branches of our family; and this gentleman you have seen before,” continued Iola, as Robert entered the room.

Dr. Gresham looked scrutinizingly at him and said:  “Your face looks familiar, but I saw so many faces at the hospital that I cannot just now recall your name.”

“Doctor,” said Robert Johnson, “I was one of your last patients, and I was with Tom Anderson when he died.”