“Have you no suspicion on the subject?” asked Miss Sally, after a few moments’ silence.
“None whatever,” answered Mary.
Miss Sally looked at her earnestly with eyes full of affection, and then said, speaking very slowly—
“You know, my dear Mary, how my brother found you and Tom Baraka floating on a piece of wreck in the Indian Ocean, and how neither you nor Tom were able to give any account of yourselves—he not understanding English, and you being too young to remember what had occurred. From the day my brother brought you home we have ever loved you dearly, and supposing that your parents perished, we believed that no one would appear to take you away from us.”
“Yes, indeed, dear aunt, and I have never wished to leave you,” said Mary, in a gentle tone. “If Mr Farrance wishes me to do so, pray tell him that it is impossible.”
“There may be one who has a greater right to claim you than we have, and should he prove his claim, we should be unable to hold you from him.”
“But how can any one have a claim upon me? I don’t understand, aunt,” said Mary, completely puzzled. “Pray tell me what Mr Farrance does say.”
“You shall hear his letter, and then judge for yourself, my dear child,” said Miss Sally, and again holding the letter before her spectacles, she read—
“My Dear Miss Pack,—I lose no time in informing you during your good brother’s absence of a circumstance which may possibly greatly affect your young charge Mary. I must tell you that I had a brother who, at an early age, having married imprudently, left England, and that I and the rest of his family long supposed him dead. Two days ago a gentleman, who said that he had just returned to this country after having resided for many years in one of the Dutch East India settlements, called upon me. After some conversation he inquired whether I suspected who he was, and, greatly to my astonishment, he announced himself as my long-lost brother. He was so changed by time and a pestiferous climate, and sorrow and trials of all sorts, that I had a great difficulty in recognising him, though I was at length satisfied that he was my brother, and as such welcomed him home. While he was yesterday evening narrating the events of his life, he mentioned having sent his wife, whose health required a change of climate, and their only child, a little girl, on board a ship bound for the Cape of Good Hope, where a correspondent of his house had promised to receive them, but that the ship was lost and that all on board, it was believed, had perished. On hearing this it at once struck me as possible, and remember I say barely possible, that the child picked up by Lieutenant Pack might be my brother’s daughter. On comparing dates I found, as nearly as I can calculate, that they agree. Of course I do not forget that there might have been several children of the same ago on board the ship. Even should the wreck Mr Pack fell in with have been a portion of the ill-fated ship, yet some other child instead of my brother’s might have been saved. It would be difficult, but not impossible, to identify her. My brother is more sanguine than I am on the subject, and is anxious to come down with me as soon as his health will allow, if you will give us permission, to see your young charge. You may possibly have preserved the clothes she had on and any ornaments about her which might assist in her identification. Although my brother might not be able to recognise them, he tells me that a black girl, who was a nurse in his family and much attached to the child, is still alive, and he proposes to send for her immediately. He has married again and has a large family. Though Mary may be pleased to find that she has a number of brothers and sisters, her position as to fortune will not be greatly altered; however on that point she will not concern herself as much as you and others, her elders, may possibly do, and we will take care that she is not the loser should the hopes we entertain be realised.
“I have written this, my dear madam, as you ought to receive the earliest information on the subject, and because you may think fit to prepare your young charge for what may otherwise prove so startling to her; but I leave that to your judgment, and hoping in the course of a few days to see you,