"And the mother, too—there is no doubt of that woman being a real lady," said Ellen. "Did you ever see a sweeter, gentler countenance?"
"Never," replied Alice. "But, uncle, do you not know that I have an idea? I guessed all along that Margaret Roscoe was our little friend—but I feel sure that rascal of a Smith was lying, when he said he had seen her uncle's death in the paper. It's not very likely such a fellow as he was, would object to telling an untruth! He only wanted to get her trunks, and to quiet her, you may be sure. And I believe that Mr. Alan Roscoe is now living in Philadelphia—and I believe that I know him, uncle!"
Her uncle started, and exclamations of surprise and delight burst from all the circle. "It might very well be," Mr. Wyndham said; "I remember thinking our amiable friend Smith was speaking an untruth, at the time, although I did not carry out the idea. But do you know any one of that name, Alice? Surely, it cannot be Mr. Roscoe, the retired merchant, who is so prominent for his benevolence and liberality?"
"Yes, sir, it is—I am intimate with his oldest child, Carrie. And I know that he is a Scotchman, and they used to live in Charleston, and his name is Alan, and his little boy is called Malcom! that's after Margaret's father, I am sure. Carrie told me he had been named after an uncle in Scotland who was dead!"
"Is it possible?" replied Mr. Wyndham. "It really does look like it—if it be actually so, my dear wife, here is another reverse of fortune for your heroine, which you did not expect. The contrast would be great indeed, between the little whitewashed cottage, and the magnificent mansion on Walnut-street!"
"I hope it will not turn her head!" said Charlie Bolton.
"There is little fear of that, I think," rejoined Mrs. Wyndham. "Margaret has early been tried in the furnace of affliction, and she has come out gold: I believe she really possesses that gospel charity, one of the marks of which is, that it is not, and cannot be, puffed up. But what shall we do? shall we tell her of our hopes?"
"By no means," replied her husband. "It would only excite expectations which, after all, may be disappointed—although I am strongly convinced that our suppositions are correct. For the first time in my life, I regret that to-morrow will be Sunday; but early on Monday morning I shall set out for the city, and for Mr. Roscoe's house or counting-room. With my good wife's permission, I will take this medallion with me, and show it to Mr. Roscoe—then I shall know in a moment if he is really Margaret's uncle."
"Will you be so kind as to take me with you?" asked a dozen voices at once.
"No, I will not," replied Mr. Wyndham, laughing. "The carriage cannot possibly hold you all. If Alice wishes it, I will take her, both as a reward for her quickness in making this discovery, and as a means of introduction to Mr. Roscoe, with whom I am not acquainted. And if our surmises prove correct, I expect to bring Mr. Roscoe back with me, which is another reason for not riding twenty or thirty in a carriage."