Clifton. Jack afterwards ascertained that this was her name.
"About a year old, madam."
"And how long since was it?" asked the lady, bending forward with
breathless interest.
"Eight years since. She is now nine."
"It must be," said the lady, in a low voice. "If it is indeed so,
how will my life be blessed!"
"Did you speak, madam?"
"Tell me under what circumstances your family adopted Ida."
Jack related, briefly, the circumstances, which are already familiar
to the reader.
"And do you recollect the month in which this happened?"
"It was at the close of December, the night before New Years."
"It is--it must be she!" ejaculated the lady, clasping her hands
while tears of happy joy welled from her eyes.
"I--I do not understand," said Jack.
"My young friend, our meeting this morning seems providential. I
have every reason to believe that this child--your adopted
sister--is my daughter, stolen from me by an unknown enemy at the
time of which you speak. From that day to this I have never been
able to obtain the slightest clew that might lead to her discovery.
I have long taught myself to look upon her as dead."
"It was Jack's turn to be surprised. He looked at the lady beside
him. She was barely thirty. The beauty of her girlhood had ripened
into the maturer beauty of womanhood. There was the same dazzling
complexion--the same soft flush upon the cheeks.
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