“Yes,” he replied, “in reference to the matter I mentioned to you at our last meeting.”
A look of deep displeasure came upon her face.
“Let that matter die,” she said, briefly. “It is enough to have told it to me. Do you wish to publish it to the world?”
“It need not go beyond the parties present.”
“And why so far as that?” she sharply asked. “What is it their affair? I can see no necessity of this.”
“I will tell you why, Jennie. I have learned something important connected with you, since I saw you last. It is necessary to broach it before these gentlemen, who are already conversant with the facts.”
Mr. Somers was involuntarily leaning forward in his seat, and devouring the face of the young lady with hungry, eager eyes. He seemed to forget all present in his absorbing interest.
“Listen, then, to another story,” said Mr. Leonard, quietly. “Mr. Somers here has had in his life experience the greatest misfortunes. He is a gentleman of great wealth, and surrounded with all that generally makes life desirable. Yet with it all he has been very unhappy. His wife died; his two children, a boy and a girl, were stolen from him by an enemy; his whole life has been devoted to the finding of these lost treasures. We have just learned,” continued Mr. Leonard, “that the villain who carried off the children left them in the alms-house here in Philadelphia—dying there himself.”
A quick thought flashed across Jennie’s mind. She grew pale, and sunk back in her chair. She was beginning to guess the object of this revelation.
“They were left there under their own names, William and Jennie Somers,” continued Mr. Leonard, fixing his eyes upon his intently listening ward. “The life there did not please young Will. He took occasion, after losing his sister, to run away from the institution. He is now before you.”