"That picture in your room," he said, "is the portrait of your aunt, I suppose."
"Yes, but you will scarcely recognise her by it when you see her. She is not like the same woman. She has had some great trouble, I am sure, although she never speaks of it. I have tried often to imagine what it must have been, but I have never been able to find out."
"And Mary--is she happy?"
"O, yes, very, very happy. She will have a baby soon."
A soft light stole into her face, and her fingers closed tenderly on the locket hanging at her bosom. Muzzy noticed the action. "That's a new locket, Lizzie."
"Yes; Some One gave it to me. If I am to live with you as your daughter, you ought to know his name."
"What is it?" he asked, seeing that Lizzie expected him to take an interest in her lover.
"Alfred. Isn't it a nice name?"
"Yes," he muttered, in a slightly troubled voice.
She took the locket from her neck, and handed it to him. He opened it, and gazed at it long and earnestly, and in deep silence. Perhaps it was the prospect of the new life that was before him that caused him to start when Lizzie addressed him presently, and to look around him with the bewildered air of one suddenly aroused from sleep.