Grey did not reply to this, or tell her that he could guess in part what it was which had made his father grow old so fast, and blanched his hair to a snowy white, unusual to one of his years.  It was the secret hidden under the bed-room floor which had affected his whole life, and affected it all the more because he had brooded over it in silence, and never spoken to any one upon the subject.  Once Hannah attempted to say something to him, but he had repulsed her so fiercely that she never tried again, and he did not guess what efforts Grey had made to find the rightful heirs of Joel Rogers.  Like his wife, he did not object to Grey’s engagement.  Bessie was a desirable parti, as she would, in all probability, inherit her aunt’s large fortune, and he signified his approval; and in all Boston there was not a happier man than Grey, on the morning when, with his Aunt Hannah, he at last started for Allington, telling her when he bade her good-by at the station that he should bring Bessie to her early the following day.

It was a most lovely October morning when Grey drove Bessie through the rocky lane in the pasture land up to the old house, of which he had told her on Christmas Eve, at Stoneleigh, almost two years ago, and which seemed neither new nor strange to Bessie, so strong an impression had his description made upon her.

“There she is; that is Aunt Hannah,” Grey said, as a tall, slender woman, in a plain black dress, came to the open door and stood waiting for them.

“And I should have known her, too.  What a sad face it is, just as if there was a history hidden under it.”  Bessie said, and Grey replied, as be lifted her from the phaeton: 

“There is a history hidden there, and sometime I will tell it to you.”

Then leading her to his aunt he said: 

“Auntie, I have brought you Bessie.”

“Yes,” Hannah answered, with a gasp, as her cold hands were clasped by the soft, warm ones of the young girl, who looked up at her curiously, wondering at her manner.

At sight of Bessie, Hannah had been startled by the likeness to the picture hidden away so many years, every feature of which was indelibly stamped upon her memory.  Had that picture taken life and form, and was it confronting her now?  It seemed so, and for an instant she grew cold and faint, and stood staring at the girl.

“Auntie, won’t you kiss Bessie?” Grey said, and then the spell was broken, and taking the girl in her arms, Hannah kissed and cried over her as a fond mother cries over the child which has been lost and is restored to her again.