On the first day of our arrival, F. McDevitt asked my eldest little girl her name.
"Charlotte Griffeth Hallam," she replied promptly.
"Charlotte Griffeth?" he repeated; then turning to me:
"And for whom was she named?"
"For my mother," I replied.
"And is your mother living?"
"She died in my infancy."
"She must have been the person advertised." And taking a slip of paper from his memorandum-book, handed it me.
It was an advertisement for Charlotte Griffeth or her heirs in America, to whom an estate in Wales had descended, valued at one hundred thousand pounds! And what interest had this possessed for F. McDevitt? His brother had a short time previously married a Miss Griffeth, and it was to send in a letter to his brother that he had extracted from the paper this brief paragraph. Was not this too much? I closed my eyes to keep back the tears, and pressed my hand against my side, to still the tumultuous throbbings of my heart.
God! my God! so long time from me hidden, giving me now the true faith, and then this unexpected fortune! What should I do with it? A few months before, I would have purchased a splendid house, perfect in all its appointments. I would have gathered about me all that would have pleased the taste and gratified the senses.