Mrs. Worthington and her daughter exchanged glances, and the latter abruptly asked: 

“Where is Willie’s father?”

“I don’t know,” came in a wailing sob from the depths of the pillow.

“Where did you come from?” was the next question.  The young girl looked up in some alarm, and answered meekly: 

“From New York.  I thought I’d never get here, but everybody was so kind to me and Willie, and the driver said if ’twan’t so late, and he so many passengers, he’d drive across the fields.  He pointed out the way and I came on alone.”

The color had faded from Mrs. Worthington’s face, and very timidly she asked again: 

“Whom are you looking for?  Whom did you hope to find?”

“Mr. Worthington.  Does he live here?” was the frank reply; whereupon ’Lina drew herself up haughtily, exclaiming: 

“I knew it.  I’ve thought so ever since Hugh came home from New York.”

’Lina was about to commence a tirade of abuse, when the mother interposed, and with an air of greater authority than she generally assumed toward her imperious daughter, bade her keep silence while she questioned the stranger, gazing wonderingly from one to the other, as if uncertain what they meant.

Mrs. Worthington had no such feelings for the girl as ’Lina entertained.

“It will be easier to talk with you,” she said, leaning forward, “if I know what to call you.”

“Adah,” was the response, and the brown eyes, swimming with tears, sought the face of the questioner with a wistful eagerness, as if it read there the unmistakable signs of a friend.

“Adah, you say.  Well, then, Adah, why have you come to my son on such a night as this, and what is he to you?”

“Are you his mother?” and Adah started up.  “I did not know he had one.  Oh, I’m so glad.  And you’ll be kind to me, who never had a mother?”

A person who never had a mother was an anomaly to Mrs. Worthington, whose powers of comprehension were not the clearest imaginable.

“Never had a mother!” she repeated.  “How can that be?”

A smile flitted for a moment across Adah’s face, and then she answered: 

“I never knew a mother’s care, I mean.”

“But your father?  What do you know of him?” said Mrs. Worthington, and instantly a shadow stole into the sweet young face, as Adah replied: 

“Only this, I was left at a boarding school.”

“And Hugh?  Where did you meet him?  And what is he to you?”

“The only friend I’ve got.  May I see him, please?”

“First tell what he is to you and to this child,” ’Lina rejoined.  Adah answered calmly: 

“Your brother might not like to be implicated.  I must see him first—­see him alone.”

“One thing more,” and ’Lina held back her mother, who was starting in quest of Hugh, “are you a wife?”

“Don’t, ’Lina,” Mrs. Worthington whispered, as she saw the look of agony pass over Adah’s face.  “Don’t worry her so; deal kindly by the fallen.”