"Will you tell me what you know about her history?"
"She can do this better than I. Shall I call her?"
"No, no! I want to talk with you; but first answer this one question: Has she a brother?"
"A foster-brother as she calls the noble cripple, who is now with her in our private parlor."
A gleam of joy darted into her beautiful eyes at this clearing away of the shadows, and she proceeded.
"Another question; by what name was she called before you bestowed your own upon her?"
Her listener laughed. "In her years of babyhood she gloried in the appellation of 'Phebe Blunt,' and in six years or thereabouts this was changed to 'Phebe Evans;' at fourteen it was again changed to 'Lily Gaylord,' the one to which she will now answer."
"Why Lily?"
"Because of a little fanciful dream of her early childhood. She was born near the sea, and lived in a fisherman's cabin, but somehow learned that somebody had called her 'Lily Pearl,' and from this she drew the conclusion that a beautiful lady had picked her up off the waves where the pearls had thrown her."
The speaker looked up to behold the face of her listener as ashy pale as though the hand of death had chilled it with its icy touch, while the pallid lips were vainly endeavoring to speak; and, darting from her chair, Mrs. Gaylord exclaimed with alarm. "What is the matter with you? Are you dying?"