that her father could see how close was the resemblance. The
colour was precisely the same, making allowances for the slight dimming
of age; while the design of the brocade was so similar that the two
might have been made in the same period, if not by the same hand.

Mr. Warne studied the two fabrics intently for a moment, then looked
into his daughter's eyes. He was too moved to speak. When she herself
could talk again composedly she told him what she meant to do. The blue
silk, made by her own hands in the three days left her, was to be her
wedding gown. She had bought a little fine lace, fit for such a use,
with which to make the finishing; and no matter what Doctor Jefferson
might think of such a substitute for the customary bridal attire, for
herself she should be far happier than in the finest white silk or satin
that could be bought.

"God bless you, my little girl!" Father Davy murmured, wiping his eyes,
their clear blue depths misty.

His thin hand clasped the little blue bag again, his heart ached with
the sorrow which is part joy and with the joy which is part sorrow.
Nothing his Phoebe's daughter could have done would have proclaimed her
so truly the child of her mother as this unexpected act. He looked again
and again at the roll of blue silk in Georgiana's lap.

"How strange it seems that you could find it," he said, "now when
everything is so different from the fashions of twenty-five years ago."

"It's a revival, the silk man said. He explained that the styles of the
moment call for the fabrics and patterns of the past, and that it's a
constant revolution, bringing back every once in so often what is
old-fashioned between times. But he himself was surprised that the very
newest thing on his shelves was the one that matched the old. I think he
was almost as pleased as I was--without knowing anything about it,
except that I was very anxious to find the silk. And now to hurry home
and make it!"

Her unconscious use of the word "home" struck pleasantly upon Mr.
Warne's ears. He himself was beginning to feel very much at home in the
old square. Small wonder, since he had found there the son he had longed
for all his married life.

Back at the house Georgiana fell to work without delay. She had told
Mrs. MacFayden her intention, and had enlisted the warm interest of that
motherly Scotswoman. She had offered Doctor Craig's young guest the use
of her own sitting-room, with that of the sewing-machine which