“Your mother—­also belonged to one of the first families of Virginia, and in her veins flowed some of the best blood of the Old Dominion.”

“What was her maiden name?”

“Mary Fairfax.  As I was saying, your father was a Virginia gentleman.  He was as handsome a man as ever lived, and proud, oh, so proud!—­and good, and kind.  He was a graduate of the University and had studied abroad.”

“My mother—­was she beautiful?”

“She was much admired, and your father loved her from the moment he first saw her.  Your father came back from Europe, upon his father’s sudden death, and entered upon his inheritance.  But he had been away from Virginia so long, and had read so many books, that he had outgrown his home.  He did not believe that slavery was right, and one of the first things he did was to free his slaves.  His views were not popular, and he sold out his lands a year before the war, with the intention of moving to Europe.”

“In the mean time he had met and loved and married my mother?”

“In the mean time he had met and loved your mother.”

“My mother was a Virginia belle, was she not?”

“The Fairfaxes,” answered Mrs. Harper, “were the first of the first families, the bluest of the blue-bloods.  The Miss Fairfaxes were all beautiful and all social favorites.”

“What did my father do then, when he had sold out in Virginia?”

“He went with your mother and you—­you were then just a year old—­to Cincinnati, to settle up some business connected with his estate.  When he had completed his business, he embarked on the Pride of St. Louis with you and your mother and a colored nurse.”

“And how did you know about them?” asked Clara.

“I was one of the party.  I was”——­

“You were the colored nurse?—­my ‘mammy,’ they would have called you in my old Virginia home?”

“Yes, child, I was—­your mammy.  Upon my bosom you have rested; my breasts once gave you nourishment; my hands once ministered to you; my arms sheltered you, and my heart loved you and mourned you like a mother loves and mourns her firstborn.”

“Oh, how strange, how delightful!” exclaimed Clara.  “Now I understand why you clasped me so tightly, and were so agitated when I told you my story.  It is too good for me to believe.  I am of good blood, of an old and aristocratic family.  My presentiment has come true.  I can marry my lover, and I shall owe all my happiness to you.  How can I ever repay you?”

“You can kiss me, child, kiss your mammy.”

Their lips met, and they were clasped in each other’s arms.  One put into the embrace all of her new-found joy, the other all the suppressed feeling of the last half hour, which in turn embodied the unsatisfied yearning of many years.

The music had ceased and the pupils had left the hall.  Mrs. Harper’s charges had supposed her gone, and had left for home without her.  But the two women, sitting in Clara’s chamber, hand in hand, were oblivious to external things and noticed neither the hour nor the cessation of the music.