"Florence, why don't you take Mary to her room?"
"Would you like to go up-stairs, cousin?"
"Oh yes! if you please, I had much rather." And taking her basket from her hand, Florry led the way.
Mary took off her bonnet, and turned to look again at her cousin. Their eyes met; but, as if overcome by some sudden recollection, she buried her face in her hands and burst again into tears.
Florence stood for some time in silence, at length she said gently,
"It is almost tea-time, and father will be angry if he sees you have been crying."
"Oh! I can't help it, indeed I can't," sobbed the little mourner, "he is so much like my dear, darling mother;" and she stifled a cry of agony.
"Is my father like your mother, cousin Mary?"
"Oh yes! When he spoke to me just now, I almost thought it was mother."
A tear rolled over Florry's cheek, and she slowly replied, "I wish I knew somebody that looked like my mother." In that hour was forged the chain which bound them through life, and made them one in interest.