Oliver had strayed out to Lincoln Park like the rest in search of enjoyment, and was standingclose at hand when the little girl fell into the lake.
It was the work of an instant to plunge in and rescue the little girl. Then he looked about to find out to whom he should yield her up.
His eyes fell upon Mrs. Conrad hastening to her young charge. As yet she had not noticed Oliver. She only saw Florette.
Oliver's heart gave a great bound. Could it be his mother—his mother whom he believed dead—or was it only a wonderful resemblance?
"Mother!" he exclaimed, almost involuntarily.
At that word Mrs. Conrad turned her eyes upon him. She, too, was amazed, and something of awe crept over her as she looked upon one whom she thought a tenant of the tomb.
"Oliver!" she said wistfully, and in an instant he was folded in her arms.
"Then it is you, mother, and you are not dead!" exclaimed Oliver joyfully, kissing her.
"Did you think me dead, then? Mr. Kenyon wrote me that you were dead."
"Mr. Kenyon is a scoundrel, mother; but I can forgive him—I can forgive everybody, since you are alive."