Poor Hope saw them coming, and his heart beat high.

"Ah!" said Bartley, feigning surprise; "why, it's Mr.Hope.How do you do, Hope?
This is my little girl.

Mary, my dear, this is an old friend of mine.

Give him your hand." The girl looked in Hope's face, and gave him her hand, and did not recognize him.
"Fine girl for her years, isn't she ?" said Bartley.

"Healthy and strong, and quick at her lessons; and, what's better still, she is a good girl, a very good girl." "Papa!" said the child, blushing, and hid her face behind Bartley's elbow, all but one eye, with which she watched the effect of these eulogies upon the strange gentleman.
"She is all a father could wish," said Hope, tenderly.
Instantly the girl started from her position, and stood wrapt in thought; her beautiful eyes wore a strange look of dreamy intelligence, and both men could see she was searching the past for that voice.
Bartley drew back, that the girl might not see him, and held up his finger.