Of course when I made that promise I did not know that Lindy Putnam and Celeste Archimbault were one and the same person."

"But knowing it as you now do, Mr. Sawyer, you will not send him any word. Give me your solemn promise you will not. I cannot marry him. You know I cannot. There is no Lindy Putnam, and Celeste Archimbault has no right to the name she bears."

"Did you come to New York when you left Eastborough, as you promised you would?" inquired Quincy.

"No, I did not, Mr. Sawyer," said she. "Forgive me, but I could not. I was distracted, almost heartbroken when I reached Boston the day she died. She had robbed me of all hope of ever finding my relatives, and but for my hatred of her I believe I would have had brain fever. One thing I could not do, I would not do. I would not remain in America. I was rich, I would travel and try to drown my sorrow and my hatred. I did not go to a hotel, for I did not wish any one to find me. What good could it do? I looked in the 'Transcript' and found a boarding place.

There I met Mdme. Archimbault, a widow, a French-Canadian lady, who had come to Boston in search of a niece who had left her home in Canada some five years before. Mdme. Archimbault had spent all the money she had in her unavailing search for her relative, and she told me, with tears in her eyes and expressive French gestures, that she would have to sell her jewelry to pay her board, as she had no way of making a living in a foreign land. Then I told her part of my story. She was sure her niece was dead, and so I asked her to be my mother, to let me take her name and be known as her daughter. I told her I was rich and that I would care for her as long as our compact was kept and the real truth not known. My visit to Nice and my meeting with Algernon Hastings, he has no doubt told you. I did not know he was a lord, but I suspected it. So much the more reason why he should not marry a nameless waif, a poor girl with no father or mother and all hope lost of ever finding them. I came back to America with Mdme. Archimbault, covering my tracks by cross journeys and waits which he could not antic.i.p.ate. We landed in Boston."

"I found your names in the Quincy House register," remarked Quincy.

"I don't think I could escape from you as easily as I did from him," she said, the first faint sign of a smile showing itself upon her face. "I went to my bankers in Boston and told them that I had been adopted by a wealthy French lady named Archimbault. I informed them that we were going to return to France at once. They made up my account, and I found I was worth nearly one hundred and forty thousand dollars. I took my fortune in New York drafts, explaining that madame wished to visit relatives in New York, and that we should sail for France from that port. I did this so my bankers could not disclose my whereabouts to any one. We came here, but I could not remain idle. I always had a natural taste for millinery work, so I proposed to madame that we should open a store under her name. We did this late in September, and have had great success since our opening day. Now you know all about me, Mr. Sawyer.

Give me your promise that you will not tell Lord Hastings where I am."

"Then," said Quincy, "you do not know why I am here."

"To keep your word to Lord Hastings, I presume. What other reason could you have?"

"Then you have not read the Personal Column in the 'New York Herald?'"

Quincy inquired.

"No," said she. "Why should I?"

Quincy took a copy of the paper from his pocket, laid it upon the table and pointed with his finger to the word "Linda." She read the advertis.e.m.e.nt, then looked up to him with distended eyes, full of questioning.

"What does the paper say? It could not have disclosed much or you would not have waited so long to tell me."

Then Quincy related the story of the sealed package, how it had been given to Alice Pettengill long before Mrs. Putnam died; how Miss Pettengill had sworn to destroy it, but would not when she learned that it might possibly contain information relating to her parents. He told her that Miss Pettengill would not allow any one to read it but herself; and how he had promised to search for her until he found her. Then he related the incident at the lawyer's office and the piece of cloth bearing the name, "Linda Fernborough," "which," said Quincy, "I think must have been your mother's maiden name." He did not tell her of the old gentleman only five blocks away, ready and willing to claim her as his granddaughter without further proof than that little piece of doth.

Quincy looked at his watch. "I have just time," said he, "to get the one o'clock train for Boston. I will obtain the papers to-morrow morning, and be in New York again to-morrow night. The next morning early I will be at your residence with the papers, and let us hope that they will contain such information as will disclose your parentage and give you a name that you can rightfully bear."

She wrote her home address on a card and pa.s.sed it to him.

He gave her hand a quick, firm pressure and left the store, not even glancing at Hortense, who gazed at him with wonderment. He hailed a hack and was driven to the hotel. He found Sir Stuart and told him that he had found his supposed granddaughter, but that he must wait until he returned from Boston with the papers, that his wife's feelings must be respected, and that the doc.u.ment could only be opened and read by the person who had been known to her as Lindy Putnam.

Quincy reached Mt. Vernon Street about eight o'clock that evening. His wife and aunt listened eagerly to the graphic recital of his search. He pictured the somewhat sensational episode in the boudoir in the most expressive language, and Alice remarked that Quincy was fast gathering the materials for a most exciting romance; while Aunt Ella declared that the disclosure of the dual personality of Linda and Celeste would form a most striking theatrical tableau.

Aunt Ella informed him that she had been requested by Mr. and Mrs.

Nathaniel Adams Sawyer to extend an invitation to Miss Bruce Douglas to dine with them on any day that might be convenient for her. "I was included in the invitation, of course," Aunt Ella added. "What day had we better fix, Quincy?" she inquired.

"Make it Christmas," replied Quincy. "Tell them Miss Bruce Douglas has invitations for every other day but that for a month to come. What a precious gift I shall present to my father," said he, caressing his wife, who laid her fair head upon his shoulder.

"Do you think he will be pleased?" asked Alice.

"I don't know which will please him most," replied Quincy, "the fact that such a talented addition has been made to the family, or the knowledge, which will surely surprise him, that his son was smart enough to win such a prize."

The next morning Quincy arose early and was at Curtis Carter's office as soon as it was opened. Alice had signed an order for the delivery of the package to him and he presented it to Mr. Carter's clerk, to whom he was well known. The ponderous doors of the big safe were thrown open and the precious doc.u.ment was produced. When the clerk pa.s.sed the package to him and took Alice's order therefor, Quincy noticed that a five-dollar bill was pinned to the envelope; a card was also attached to the bill, upon which was written: "This money belongs to Mr. Quincy Sawyer; he dropped it the last time he was in the office."

Quincy would not trust the package to his hand-bag, but placed it in an inside pocket of his coat, which he tightly b.u.t.toned. After leaving the lawyer's office he dropped into Grodjinski's, and purchased a box of fine cigars. He had the clerk tack one of his cards on the top of the box. On this he wrote:

"MY DEAR CURTIS:--Keep the ashes for me; they make good tooth powder. QUINCY."

The box was then done up and addressed to Curtis Carter, Esq., the clerk promising to have it delivered at once.

Quincy had found a letter at his aunt's from Mr. Strout, asking him to buy a line of fancy groceries and confectionery for Christmas trade, and it was noon before he had attended to the matter to his complete satisfaction. A hasty lunch and he was once more on his way to New York, and during the trip his hand sought the inside pocket of his coat a score of times, that he might feel a.s.sured that the precious doc.u.ment was still there.

Arriving, Quincy proceeded at once to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Sir Stuart was eagerly awaiting his arrival, and his first question was, "Have you the papers?"

Quincy took the package from his pocket and placed it on the table before him, remarking as he did so, "It must not be opened until to-morrow morning, and then by the young lady herself."

The old man pushed the package away from him and turned a stern face toward Quincy. "I yield obedience," said he, "to your wife's command, but if one man or two stood now between me and my darling's child, I would have their lives, if they tried to keep her from my arms for one instant even."

After a little reflection he apologized for his vehement language, and sought his room to think, and hope, and wait--but not to sleep.

The next morning, a little before nine o'clock, a carriage containing two gentlemen stopped before a modest brick dwelling in West Forty-first Street. A servant admitted them and showed them into the little parlor.

The room was empty. Quincy pointed to a sofa at the farther end of the room, and Sir Stuart took a seat thereon. Quincy stepped into the entry and greeted Celeste, who was just descending the stairs.

"Sir Stuart Fernborough is in your parlor," said he; "he may be, and I hope to Heaven he is, your grandfather, but you must control your feelings until you know the truth. Come and sit by me, near the window, and read what is written in this package, so loud that he can hear every word." As he said this he placed the package, which might or might not prove her honorable heritage, in her hands.

They entered the room and took seats near the window. Celeste opened the package with trembling fingers. As she did so that little telltale piece of cloth, bearing the name "Linda Fernborough," once more fell upon the floor. Quincy picked it up, and held it during the reading of the letter, for a letter it proved to be.

It had no envelope, but was folded in the old-fashioned way, so as to leave a blank s.p.a.ce on the back of the last sheet for the address. The address was, "Mr. Silas Putnam, Hanover, New Hampshire."

Celeste began to read in a clear voice: "Dear brother Silas."

"Is there no date?" asked Quincy.

"Oh, yes," replied Celeste, "March 18, 183--."

"Thirty years ago," said Quincy.

Celeste read on:

"DEAR BROTHER SILAS:--You will, no doubt, be surprised to find I am in this town when I usually go to Gloucester or Boston, but the truth is I had a strange adventure during my last fishing trip on the Polly Sanders, and I thought I would come into port as close to you as I could. About ten days ago I had a good catch on the Banks and sailed for home, bound for Boston. A heavy fog came up, and we lay to for more than twenty-four hours. During the night, heard cries, and my mate, Jim Brown, stuck to it that some ship must have run ash.o.r.e; and he was right, for when the fog lifted we saw the masts of a three-master sticking out of water, close on sh.o.r.e, and about a mile from where we lay. We up sail and ran down as close as we dared to see if there was anybody living on the wreck. We couldn't see anybody, but I sent out Jim Brown with a boat to make a thorough search. In about an hour he came back, bringing a half-drowned woman and just the nicest, chubbiest, little black-eyed girl baby that you ever saw in your life. Jim said the woman was lashed to a spar, and when he first saw her, there was a man in the water swimming and trying to push the spar towards the land, but before he reached him the man sunk and he didn't get another sight of him."

"Oh, my poor father!" cried Celeste. The letter dropped from her hands and the tears rushed into her eyes.

"Shall I finish reading it?" asked Quincy, picking up the letter.

Celeste nodded, and he read on:

"I gave the woman some brandy and she came to long enough to tell me who she was. She said her name was Linda Chester or Chessman, I couldn't tell just which. Her husband's name was Charles, and he was an artist.

He had a brother in Boston named Robert, and they were on their way to that city. The wrecked ship was the Canadian Belle, bound from Liverpool to Boston. I didn't tell her her husband was drowned. I gave her some more brandy and she came to again and said her husband left a lot of pictures in London with Roper & Son, on Ludgate Hill. I asked her where she came from and she said from Heathfield, in Suss.e.x. She said no more and we couldn't bring her to again. She died in about an hour and we buried her at sea. I noticed that her nightdress had a name stamped on it different from what she gave me, and so I cut it out and send it in this letter. Now, I've heard you and Heppy say that if you could find a nice little girl baby that you would adopt her and bring her up. I sold out my cargo at Portland, and so I've put in here, and I'll stay till you and Heppy have time to drive down here and make up your minds whether you'll take this handsome little baby off my hands. Come right along, quick, for I must be off to the Banks again soon. From your brother,

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.