“After I had finished the hymn,” continued Iola, “he looked earnestly and inquiringly into my face, and asked, ’Where did you learn that hymn?  I have heard my mother sing it when I was a boy, but I have never heard it since.’  I think, mamma, the words, ’I was lost but now I’m found; glory! glory! glory!’ had imprinted themselves on his memory, and that his mind was assuming a higher state of intellectuality.  He asked me to sing it again, which I did, until he fell asleep.  Then I noticed a marked resemblance between him and Harry, and I thought, ’Suppose he should prove to be your long-lost brother?’ During his convalescence we found that we had a common ground of sympathy.  We were anxious to be reunited to our severed relations.  We had both been separated from our mothers.  He told me of his little sister, with whom he used to play.  She had a mole on her cheek which he called her beauty spot.  He had the red spot on his forehead which you told me of.”

CHAPTER XXIII.

DELIGHTFUL REUNIONS.

Very bright and happy was the home where Marie and her children were gathered under one roof.  Mrs. Leroy’s neighbors said she looked ten years younger.  Into that peaceful home came no fearful forebodings of cruel separations.  Harry and Iola were passionately devoted to their mother, and did all they could to flood her life with sunshine.

“Iola, dear,” said Harry, one morning at the breakfast-table, “I have a new pleasure in store for you.”

“What is it, brother mine?” asked Iola, assuming an air of interest.

“There is a young lady living in this city to whom I wish to introduce you.  She is one of the most remarkable women I have ever met.”

“Do tell me all about her,” said Iola.  “Is she young and handsome, brilliant and witty?

“She,” replied Harry, “is more than handsome, she is lovely; more than witty, she is wise; more than brilliant, she is excellent.”

“Well, Harry,” said Mrs. Leroy, smiling, “if you keep on that way I shall begin to fear that I shall soon be supplanted by a new daughter.”

“Oh, no, mamma,” replied Harry, looking slightly confused, “I did not mean that.”

“Well, Harry,” said Iola, amused, “go on with your description; I am becoming interested.  Tax your powers of description to give me her likeness.”

“Well, in the first place,” continued Harry, “I suppose she is about twenty-five years old.”

“Oh, the idea,” interrupted Iola, “of a gentleman talking of a lady’s age.  That is a tabooed subject.”

“Why, Iola, that adds to the interest of my picture.  It is her combination of earnestness and youthfulness which enhances her in my estimation.”

“Pardon the interruption,” said Iola; “I am anxious to hear more about her.”

“Well, she is of medium height, somewhat slender, and well formed, with dark, expressive eyes, full of thought and feeling.  Neither hair nor complexion show the least hint of blood admixture.”