'Auntie!' said the little girl, as if the word were quite sufficient; but added a moment after, as if the thought of more information being required had just come to her: 'She is Alice, and I am Alice; only they call me Ally. Auntie is so good,' the child continued; 'mother says she is the best auntie that ever lived. And I must try to be good too, because I have got her name.'
'Quite right, my darling,' said Mr Broughton, giving the child a fatherly kiss. 'But run away now, for I have letters to write. Will you leave me the album; I should like to look at Topsy again—though I don't think she was much like Dandy. Do you?'
'Not a bit!' cried the child, tripping off gleefully, and leaving Mr Broughton with his heart stirred in a manner it had not been for many years.
It was true that he had letters to write, but it was half an hour before he took pen in hand. The first thing he did was to draw forth a powerful magnifying glass, and by its means to study the face of the lady with the dog most narrowly. Yes; he had not a shadow of doubt that this dear 'auntie,' the maiden sister of Mrs Gray of whom he had heard, was the love of his youth, the Alice Clifton of the concert-room, the Alice Croft of private life. Photography revealed some lines of care and suffering that had not belonged to the fair young face he so well remembered; but such footmarks of time must be expected in the course of twenty years, even under happier circumstances than had probably befallen the woman in question. That she should have relinquished her professional career without having married, puzzled him. But he had incidentally heard from the children that 'auntie' was coming home to-morrow; and before many days should pass, he would certainly find out a thing or two which must greatly influence his future.
As if to confirm his already strong belief beyond the power of even momentary cavil, the next time he went down-stairs he observed a letter on the hall table, which, on looking if it were intended for himself, he saw was addressed 'Miss Croft.'
The next day Alice Croft returned home; and as Broughton was taking his coffee, he could hear the children's merry shouts of welcome, at which, by-the-bye, Dandy set up a short bark, as if he thought he too had a right to join in the demonstration.
'I will do nothing hurriedly,' thought Mr Broughton to himself; 'after twenty years of separation I can wait for a few days surely. After all, if we meet on the stairs she will not recognise in me the slim smooth-faced boy I believe she remembers.' And thinking thus, he glanced at himself in the chimney-glass, noting the bronzed weather-beaten face and long thick beard streaked with white that it reflected. 'I wonder, though, if my name will strike her?' he continued, pondering. 'Perhaps not; and yet it may.'
Now the fact was, Alice Croft had not as yet heard the new lodger's name; for her sister had at first misunderstood it, and had written it 'Rawton' in communicating the news that the rooms were let. Three or four days passed away before Alice had any inkling of the mistake. Meanwhile Richard Broughton had seen her—unseen himself—more than once; and had even heard her voice speaking caressingly to the children. How it thrilled on his ear and confirmed his resolution!
It was the early twilight of a summer evening. The shop was closed, and Mrs Gray had gone out after seeing the children in bed. Broughton felt that the hour was come, and ringing his bell, asked the servant who answered it if Miss Croft were at home and disengaged.
'Yes, sir,' said the maid; 'she is all alone in the parlour.'