Obed Putnam,
Captain of the Polly Sanders. 
“Portsmouth Harbor, N.H.

“P.S.  The baby was a year old the eighth of last January.  Its name is Linda Fernborough Chessman.”

The tears had welled up again in the young girl’s eyes, when Quincy read of the death of her mother and her burial at sea.  His own hand trembled perceptibly when he realized that the young woman before him, though not his cousin, was yet connected by indisputable ties of relationship to his own aunt, Mrs. Ella Chessman.  Following his usual habit of reticence he kept silence, thinking that it would be inappropriate to detract in any way from the happy reunion of grandfather and granddaughter.

Sir Stuart had scarcely moved during the reading of the letter.  He had sat with his right hand covering his eyes, but yet evidently listening attentively to each word as it fell from the reader’s lips.  As Quincy folded up the letter and passed it back to Linda, Sir Stuart arose and came forward to the front part of the room.  Quincy took Linda’s hand and led her towards Mr. Fernborough.  Then he said, “Sir Stuart, I think this letter proves conclusively that this young lady’s real name is Linda Fernborough Chessman.  I knew personally Mr. Silas Putnam, mentioned in the letter, and scores of others can bear testimony that she has lived nearly all her life with this Silas Putnam, and has been known to all as his adopted daughter.  There is no doubt but that the Linda Fernborough who was buried at sea was her mother.  If you are satisfied that Mrs. Charles Chessman was your daughter, it follows that this young lady must be your granddaughter.”

“There is no doubt of it in my mind,” said Sir Stuart, taking both of Linda’s hands in his.  “I live at Fernborough Hall, which is located in Heathfield, in the county of Sussex.  But, my dear, I did not know until to-day that my poor daughter had a child, and it will take me just a little time to get accustomed to the fact.  Old men’s brains do not act as quickly as my young friend’s here.”  As he said this he looked towards Quincy.  “But I am sure that we both of us owe to him a debt of gratitude that it will be difficult for us ever to repay.”

The old gentleman drew Linda towards him and folded her tenderly in his arms.  “Come, rest here, my dear one,” said he; “your doubts and hopes, your troubles and trials, and your wanderings are over.”  He kissed her on the forehead, and Linda put her arms about his neck and laid her head upon his breast.

“You are the only one united to me by near ties of blood in the world,” Sir Stuart continued, and he laid his hand on Linda’s head and turned her face towards him.  “You have your mother’s eyes,” he said.  “We will go back to England, and Fernborough Hall will have a mistress once more.  You are English born, and have a right to sit in that seat which might have been your mother’s but for the pride and prejudice which thirty years ago ruled both your grandmother and myself.”