entleman's mother," she suggested, "wishes a
fine pastry-cook at once?"

"A pastry-cook!" exclaimed Donald, in despair. "I came to see Ellen Lee,
or rather to inquire for Madame Rene. Is your name Rene?"

"I am Madame Rene," a woman answered, in well-spoken English, as she
stepped forward from a dark corner of the room, where she had been
sitting unobserved by Donald. "Who is it wishes to see Ellen Lee?"

"The boy whose life she saved!" said Donald, rising to his feet and
holding out his hand, unable in his excitement to be as guarded as he
had intended to be. A glance had convinced him that this was Ellen Lee,
indeed. The woman, tall, dark-eyed, stately, very genteel in spite of
evident poverty, was about thirty-five years of age. There was no
mistaking the sudden joy in her care-worn face. She seized his hand,
without a word; then, as if recollecting herself, and feeling that she
must be more cautious, she eyed him sharply, saying:

"And the other? the brother? There were two. Is he living?"

For a second Donald's heart sank; but he quickly recovered himself.
Perhaps she was trying tricks upon him; if so, he must defend himself as
well as he could. So he answered, carelessly, but heartily, "Oh! he's
alive and well, thank you, and thanks to you."

This time they looked into each other's eyes--she, with a sudden
expression of disappointment, for would-be shrewd people are apt to give
little credit to others for equal shrewdness.

"Did you never have a sister?" she asked, with some hesitation.

"Oh, yes!" he replied, "but I must ask you now to tell me something of
Ellen Lee, and how she saved us. I can assure you of one thing--I am
alive and grateful. Pray tell me your story with perfect frankness. In
the first place,--are you and Ellen Lee the same?"

"Yes."

"And do you know _my_ name?"

"Indeed I do," she said, a slow smile coming into her face. "I will be
frank with you. If you are the person I believe you to be, your name is
Donald Reed."

"Good!" he exclaimed, joyfully; "and the other--what was--"

"_His_ name?" she interrupted, again smiling. "_His_ name was Dorothy
Reed, sir! They were twins--a beautiful boy and girl."

To the latest day of his life Donald never will forget that moment; and
he never will understand why he did not jump to his feet, grasp her
hand, ask her dozens of questions at once, and finally implore her to
tell him what he could do to prove his gratitude. He had, in fancy,
act