Before spring, another strange event took place. I will not say happened, for no chapter of accidents would ever have read so strangely. A young English manufacturer came over to America. Mr. Hurlburt had had, by letter, various dealings with the firm which he represented; and, on hearing of his arrival in New York, wrote, begging a visit of some length from him. The young man, whose object in his American journey was partly business and partly pleasure, saw an opportunity to combine both in this visit, and accepted the invitation.
He amused himself more or less with Missy, as did every one who came to the house; but he had been a member of the household for several days before it occurred to him that she was not Miss Hurlburt's young sister. Under this impression he remarked one night,—
"How curiously slight is the resemblance between yourself and your little sister, Miss Hurlburt!"
"Oh! Missy is not my sister," was the smiling answer. "She is treasure-trove, Mr. Goring."
And a little later, when Missy had danced away in search of Pinky, she told him the whole story. He listened with intense interest.
"And do you know her name?" he asked, at last.
"She says it is Berenice Ashford. You would laugh to hear the slow, painstaking way in which she pronounces it."
Mr. Goring had turned pale as she spoke.
"Excuse me, Miss Hurlburt, but I truly believe your Missy is my niece. My half-brother married against the wishes of his family, and I was the only one of them who ever made the acquaintance of his poor, pretty young wife. Even when he died, last year, the rest would not have any thing to do with her. She had a brother in America, and she wanted to come here, so I took passage for her in the "Asia." She insisted on coming in the second cabin, because it was quieter, she said; but I think it was to save expense, as well. Tom had left her nothing; and, after the rest of the family had rejected her, I could see that it hurt her pride cruelly to let me help her. She should be all right, she said, when she reached her brother. She was to write me when she got there, but I have never heard a word. I confess that the hope to hear of her was one motive for my coming to this country."
"But she was Mrs. Forsyth," Miss Hurlburt said, in a curiously bewildered state of mind.