"What girl?"
"My daughter."
"Daughter!" cried Matthew, almost convulsively. But he controlled himself the moment after, and said, "A spasm, Nicholas, nothing more. What is her age?"
"Sixteen," said Nicholas. "She is here to-night. I am very proud of her, and hope you will like her."
"Marian! That was our mother's name."
Then there was silence, and, as they stood on the balcony looking out upon the ocean, the snow-fringed waves might have been bringing back to them the time that seemed to belong to another life.
"Stay here a moment, Mat," said Nicholas; "I will bring Marian to you."
And going into the house, he returned with a beautiful girl, whose face was rosy with youth and health, and whose eyes beamed with pleasure. Her graceful person and her soft white dress made her a pretty figure in the scene.
"Marian, my dear, your uncle."
He turned and took her hand, and made a movement as if about to kiss her. But he restrained himself with a sudden impulse.