"You think so?" said Mrs. Clifton, eagerly.
"Yes, madam."
"I had a picture—a daguerreotype—taken of Ida just before I lost her; I have treasured it carefully. I must show it to you when we get to my house."
The carriage stopped before a stately mansion in a wide and quiet street. The driver dismounted and opened the door. Jack assisted Mrs. Clifton to alight.
Bashfully our hero followed the lady up the steps, and, at her bidding, seated himself in an elegant parlor furnished with a splendor which excited his admiration and wonder. He had little time to look about him, for Mrs. Clifton, without pausing to remove her street attire, hastened downstairs with an open daguerreotype in her hand.
"Can you remember Ida when she was first brought to your house?" she asked. "Did she look anything like this picture?"
"It is her image," answered Jack, decidedly. "I should know it anywhere."
"Then there can be no further doubt," said Mrs. Clifton. "It is my child you have cared for so long. Oh! why could I not have known it before? How many lonely days and sleepless nights it would have spared me! But God be thanked for this late blessing! I shall see my child again."
"I hope so, madam. We must find her."
"What is your name, my young friend?"