“Will you, do you love me?” asked Mrs. Campbell.

Mary’s warm kiss upon her cheek, and the loving clasp of her arms around her aunt’s neck, was a sufficient answer.

“Do you know aught of my Aunt Sarah?” Mary asked at last; and Mrs. Campbell replied, “Nothing definite.  From father we first heard that she was in New York, and then Aunt Morris wrote to her uncle, making inquiries concerning her.  I think the Fletchers were rather peculiar in their dispositions, and were probably jealous of our family for the letter was long unanswered, and when at last Sarah’s uncle wrote, he said, that ’independent of old Temple’s aid she had received a good education;’ adding further, that she had married and gone west, and that he was intending soon to follow her.  He neither gave the name of her husband, or the place to which they were going, and as all our subsequent letters were unanswered, I know not whether she is dead or alive; but often when I think how alone I am, without a relative in the world, I have prayed and wept that she might come back; for though I never knew her,—­never saw her that I remember, she was my mother’s child, and I should love her for that.”

Just then Ella came singing into the room, but started when she saw how excited Mrs. Campbell appeared, and how swollen her eyelids were.

“Why, what’s the matter?” said she.  “I never saw you cry before, excepting that time when I told you I was going to marry Henry,” and Ella laughed a little spiteful laugh, for she had not yet recovered from her anger at what Mrs. Campbell had said when she was in there before.

“Hush—­sh,” said Mary softly; and Mrs. Campbell, drawing Ella to her side, told her of the strange discovery she had made; then beckoning Mary to approach, she laid a hand upon each of the young girls’ heads, and blessing them, called them “her own dear children.”

It would be hard telling what Ella’s emotions were.  One moment she was glad, and the next she was sorry, for she was so supremely selfish, that the fact of Mary’s being now in every respect her equal, gave her more pain than pleasure.  Of course, Mrs. Campbell would love her best,—­every body did who knew her,—­every body but Henry.  And when Mrs. Campbell asked why she did not speak, she replied, “Why, what shall I say? shall I go into ecstasies about it?  To be sure I’m glad,—­very glad that you are my aunt.  Will Mary live here now?”

“Yes, always,” answered Mrs. Campbell; and “No never,” thought Mary.

Her sister’s manner chilled her to the heart.  She thoroughly understood her, and felt sure they could not be happy together, for Ella was to live at home even after her marriage.  There was also another, and stronger reason, why Mary should not remain with her aunt.  Mrs. Mason had the first, best claim upon her.  She it was who had befriended her when a lonely, neglected orphan, taking her from the alms-house, and giving her a pleasant, happy home.