im when he was restless, and
my voice almost invariably soothed him to sleep. One day I sang to him
that old hymn we used to sing on the plantation:--

"Drooping souls no longer grieve,
Heaven is propitious;
If on Christ you do believe,
You will find Him precious."

"I remember," said Marie, with a sigh, as memories of the past swept
over her.

"After I had finished the hymn," continued Iola, "he looked earnestly
and inquiringly into my face, and asked, 'Where did you learn that hymn?
I have heard my mother sing it when I was a boy, but I have never heard
it since.' I think, mamma, the words, 'I was lost but now I'm found;
glory! glory! glory!' had imprinted themselves on his memory, and that
his mind was assuming a higher state of intellectuality. He asked me to
sing it again, which I did, until he fell asleep. Then I noticed a
marked resemblance between him and Harry, and I thought, 'Suppose he
should prove to be your long-lost brother?' During his convalescence we
found that we had a common ground of sympathy. We were anxious to be
reunited to our severed relations. We had both been separated from our
mothers. He told me of his little sister, with whom he used to play. She
had a mole on her cheek which he called her beauty spot. He had the red
spot on his forehead which you told me of."

CHAPTER XXIII.

DELIGHTFUL REUNIONS.

Very bright and happy was the home where Marie and her children were
gathered under one roof. Mrs. Leroy's neighbors said she looked ten
years younger. Into that peaceful home came no fearful forebodings of
cruel separations. Harry and Iola were passionately devoted to their
mother, and did all they could to flood her life with sunshine.

"Iola, dear," said Harry, one morning at the breakfast-table, "I have a
new pleasure in store for you."

"What is it, brother mine?" asked Iola, assuming an air of interest.

"There is a young lady living in this city to whom I wish to introduce
you. She is one of the most remarkable women I have ever met."

"Do tell me all about her," said Iola. "Is she young and handsome,
brilliant and witty?

"She," replied Harry, "is more than handsome, she is lovely; more than
witty, she is wise; more than brilliant, she is excellent."

"Well, Harry," said Mrs. Leroy, smiling, "if you keep on that way I
shall begin to fear that I shall soon be supplanted by a new daughter."

"Oh, no, mamma," replied Harry, looking slight