’Twas enough.  The word Fanny had a power to open the fountains of that mother’s heart.  She had heard the story of the young girl, who had watched so unweariedly by the bedside of Richard—­she had heard, too, of the generous old man, whose noble heart had cared for and cherished the stranger, and she knew that she, who advanced toward her so timidly, was the same young girl, the same old man’s daughter; and could Mr. Middleton have witnessed her reception of his Sunshine, he would have been satisfied.

A messenger was dispatched for Mr. Wilmot, who was superintending some workmen in a field not far from the house.  Mr. Wilmot was a tall, noble-looking man, whose fine figure was slightly bowed by the frosts of sixty winters.  As he advanced with breathless haste toward the house, Kate ran to meet him, and the tears which the strong man wept, told how dear to him was this, his beautiful daughter, and how forcibly her presence reminded him of his first-born, only son, who went away to die among strangers.

When he was presented to Mr. Miller and Fanny, a scene similar to the one we have already described took place.  As he blessed Fanny for Richard’s sake, she felt that though in a strange land, she was not alone or unloved.  Her homesickness soon vanished; for how could she be lonely and sad, where all were so kind, and where each seemed to vie with the other in trying to make everything agreeable to her.  It was strange how soon even Hector learned to love the fair Kentuckian.  He would follow her footsteps wherever she went, and affectionately kiss her hands.  But then, as Kate said, “Hector had more common sense than half the people in the world,” and he seemed to know by instinct that she whom he so fondly caressed had once watched over his young master, who was now sleeping in his silent grave, unmindful that in his home he was still sincerely mourned even by old Hector.

Not many days after Fanny’s arrival at Mr. Wilmot’s she was told that a gentleman wished to see her in the parlor.  On entering the room how surprised she was at beholding Frank Cameron.  He had learned by letter from Kate that Fanny was in C——­, and he immediately started for his uncle’s.

Since his return from Kentucky he had thoughts of little else save Fanny Middleton.  Waking or sleeping, she was constantly in his mind, and still with a happy thought of her there ever came a sadder feeling, a fear that his love for her would be in vain.  But since the morning when he bade her adieu, her name had never once passed his lips.

When his sister Gertrude questioned him concerning the Kentucky girls, he had described to her in glowing terms the extreme beauty of Julia, and the handsome eyes of “the widder,” as he called Mrs. Carrington, but of Fanny he had never spoken.  He could not bear that even his own sister should mention Fanny in connection with any one else.  How ever, when Kate’s letter arrived, he passed it over to Gertrude, whose curiosity was instantly roused, and she poured forth a torrent of questions as to who that Fanny Middleton was.