er weak voice--"a kind of Providence, who comes
to people in their last extremities, and saves them from despair! Mr.
Chute," she continued, "is my savior!" She paused for a time, and
looked at Obed with a certain deep meaning in her eyes. Then she
turned to Zillah again. "My child," she said, "dear, sweet Zillah!
you will have to tell me all about this. Why was it that you fled
away from Chetwynde? And oh! how could you have the heart to give me
up to strangers?"

Amazed, speechless, overcome by wonder, Zillah could not say a word.
She went to Mrs. Hart, folded her in her arms, and kissed over and
over again the white lips of the woman who had once been dear to her
in Chetwynde Castle.

"I do not understand it," said Mrs. Hart, feebly, and with an
expression of deep amazement; "I do not comprehend all this at all.
Here you all are, all of you whom I love--the only ones on earth whom
I love. Here is my boy, my darling, whom I came to seek! Here is my
sweet Zillah, who brightened my mournful life at Chetwynde Castle
with her love and tenderness. And here I see my best friend, who came
to save me from death and despair, and brought me here to life and
joy and hope! What is the meaning of it all? My boy can not tell me.
Say, my sweet Zillah, can not you tell me? Do you not know? Do you
understand? Say, whose plan is it? Is it your plan? Who has brought
us all together?"

"It is God," said Zillah, solemnly. "I do not understand how you came
here. Let us thank God that you have found your friends."

She spoke at random; she knew not what to say. In her own dark
perplexity she was unable to say any thing else; and when she saw
that Mrs. Hart was equally perplexed, and turned to her for
information, she could only find an answer in those words which were
prompted by her heart. So she spoke, and she could say no more.

Nor could the others. All were silent. That white face looked
wistfully from one to the other, with eager eyes, as though seeking
from each some explanation; but none could give her that which she
sought. In the faces that surrounded her she saw nothing else but a
wonder which was fully equal to her own.

Obed Chute had now a fresh cause for bewilderment. For here was
Zillah claimed fondly as a dear and loved friend by Mrs. Hart. Who
was she? Was her mysterious story bound up in any way with the
tragical life of the other who thus claimed her? He had been
sufficiently astonished at the meeting between the