“Lizzy Glenn!  An assumed name, in all probability.”

“Very likely.  It sounds as if it might be,” said Perkins.

“If I were you,” remarked the friend, “I would learn something certain about this stranger; if for no other reason, on account of the singular association of her, in your involuntary thought, with Miss Ballantine.  She may be a relative; and, if so, it would afford a melancholy pleasure to relieve her from her present unhappy condition, for the sake of the one in heaven.”

“I have already tried to find her; but she was not at the number where Michael said she resided.”

“She may not have given him the right direction,” said Milford.

“So he pretends to infer.  But I would rather believe that Michael has purposely deceived me than that she would be guilty of falsehood.”

“If I see her again,” said Milford, “I will endeavor, by all means, to discover her place of residence.”

“Do, if you would oblige me.  It is my purpose not to lose sight of her at our next meeting, be it where it may.  Our present conversation has awakened a deeper interest, and stimulated a more active curiosity.  I am no blind believer in chance, Milford.  I do not regard this meeting with the stranger as something only fortuitous.  There is a Providence in all the events of life, and I am now firmly assured that these encounters with the seamstress are not merely accidental, as the world regards accidents, but events in a chain of circumstances that, when complete, will result in positive good.  Of the nature of that good—­as to who will be blessed or benefitted—­I do not pretend to divine.  I only feel ready to act my part in the drama of life.  I must and will know more about this stranger.”

CHAPTER VII.

Henry Gaston leaves home with sharp.

As little Henry, after parting with his mother, hurried on by the side of Mr. Sharp, who took his way directly across the bridge leading over to Charlestown, where he had left the chaise in which he had ridden from Lexington, a handsome carriage, containing a mother and three happy children, about the age of himself, Emma, and the sister who had just died, drove rapidly by.  The children were full of spirits, and, in their thoughtless glee, called out gayly, but with words of ridicule, to the poor, meanly-clan child, who was hurrying on at almost a run beside the man who had become his master.  Their words, however, were heeded not by the full-hearted boy.  His thoughts were going back to his home, and to his much-loved mother.