“Yes;” said Jack, “my sister.”

“If it is your sister,” said the clerk, “you ought to know where she is.”

Jack was about to reply, when the attention of both was called by a surprised exclamation from a lady who had paused beside them.  Her eyes, also, were fixed upon “The Flower-Girl.”

“Who is this?” she asked, hurriedly.  “Is it taken from life?”

“This young man says it is his sister,” said the clerk.

“Your sister!” said the lady, her eyes bent, inquiringly, upon Jack.  In her tone, too, there was a slight mingling of surprise, and, as it seemed, disappointment.

“Yes, madam,” said Jack, respectfully.

“Pardon me,” she said, “there is so little family resemblance, I should hardly have supposed it.”

“She is not my own sister,” said Jack, “but I love her just the same.”

“Do you live in (sic) Philadelphia?  Could I see her?” asked the lady, eagerly.

“I live in New York, madam,” said Jack; “but Ida was stolen from us nearly a fortnight since, and I have come here in pursuit of her.  I have not been able to find her yet.”

“Did you say her name was Ida?” demanded the lady, in strange agitation.

“Yes, madam.”

“My young friend,” said the lady, rapidly, “I have been much interested in the story of your sister.  I should like to hear more, but not here.  Would you have any objection to coming home with me, and telling me the rest?  Then we will, together, concert measures for discovering her.”

“You are very kind, madam,” said Jack, somewhat bashfully; for the lady was elegantly dressed, and it had never been his fortune to converse with many ladies of her rank; “I shall be very much obliged to you for your advice and assistance.”

“Then we will drive home at once.”

Jack followed her to the street, where he saw an elegant carriage, and a coachman in livery.

With natural gallantry, Jack assisted the lady into the carriage, and, at her bidding, got in himself.

“Home, Thomas!” she directed the driver; “and drive as fast as possible.”

“Yes, madam.”

“How old was your sister when your parents adopted her?” asked Mrs. Clifton.  Jack afterwards ascertained that this was her name.

“About a year old, madam.”

“And how long since was it?” asked the lady, bending forward with breathless interest.

“Eight years since.  She is now nine.”

“It must be,” said the lady, in a low voice.  “If it is indeed so, how will my life be blessed!”

“Did you speak, madam?”

“Tell me under what circumstances your family adopted Ida.”

Jack related, briefly, the circumstances, which are already familiar to the reader.

“And do you recollect the month in which this happened?”

“It was at the close of December, the night before New Years.”

“It is—­it must be she!” ejaculated the lady, clasping her hands while tears of happy joy welled from her eyes.