CHAPTER III.
LEONORA'S DISCOVERY.
One wild winter night, when the sleet lashed the pane, my door suddenly opened. I started out of a slumber, and—could I believe my eyes? can history repeat itself?—there stood the friend of my early youth, her eyes ablaze, a cradle in her arms. Was it all coming round again? A moment's reflection showed me that it was not my early friend, but her daughter, Leonora.
'Leonora,' I screamed, 'don't tell me that you——'
'I have deciphered the inscription,' said the girl proudly, setting down the cradle. The baby had not come round.
'Oh, is that all?' I replied. 'Let's have a squint at it' (in my case no mere figure of speech).
'What do you call that?' said Leonora, handing me the accompanying document.
'I call it pie,' said I, using a technical term of typography. 'I can't make head or tail of it,' I said peevishly.
'Well, pie or no pie, I love it like pie, and I've broken the crust,' answered the girl, 'according to my interpretation, which I cannot mistrust.'