I have reason to think they sailed; but from that day to
this, I have heard no tidings from them. Would to God I knew their fate!
whether the unknown ship in which they took passage went down at sea, or
what else may have happened, I know not. All my efforts to unravel the
mystery have been in vain." "Perhaps I can help you," said Mr. Wyndham,
with that peculiarly benevolent smile, which opened all hearts to him,
as if by magic. "You recognize this countenance?" continued he, holding
up to him little Maggie's medallion. "My brother Malcom! tell me, sir,
tell me where you got this; it was his wife's!" "His sweet little
daughter--your niece, Margaret Roscoe--handed it to my wife a few days
ago. She knows not she has an uncle living: her mother is dead, and she
is dwelling in comparative poverty near my house." "I cannot doubt it,
from this picture--although it is all a mystery still. But I must see
her--my dear brother's child. I will order up my carriage immediately,
and beg you to take seats in it. I must see her as soon as possible."

"On that very account I have made arrangements for you to come out to
The Grange in mine," replied Mr. Wyndham. "We can explain all things by
the way; and you can return whenever you say the word. You will find Old
Caesar quite at your disposal."

"I gratefully accept your offer, my dear sir, and can never be
sufficiently thankful to you, if you indeed restore to me my brother's
child. I will order my carriage to follow us to The Grange."

Accordingly, he acquainted his family, in few words and great haste,
with the discovery that had been made, and left Carrie, Alan, and Malcom
in an intense state of excitement, at the idea of regaining the
long-lost cousin. The three then drove immediately to Mrs. Norton's
little cottage, where the gentle and womanly child was busily engaged at
her work--

"Stitch, stitch, stitch,
Band, gusset, and seam--"

striving, by her small, but active fingers, to aid in the support of
that family which had sheltered her in adversity. As the door opened,
she raised her deep blue eyes--the very reflection of her father's. The
work fell from her hands; that face reminded her of home, of her
grandfather, of her unknown uncle. They have recognized each other; the
ties of blood speak out in their hearts; the long-severed are now
united.

I will not attempt to raise the veil which hides from the world the
strongest and purest affections of our natu