The eyes, too, were
wonderfully like Ida's. Jack looked, and what he saw convinced him.
"You must be right," he said. "Ida is very much like you."
"You think so?" said Mrs. Clifton, eagerly.
"Yes, madam."
"I had a picture--a daguerreotype--taken of Ida just before I lost
her. I have treasured it carefully. I must show it to you."
The carriage stopped before a stately mansion in a wide and quiet
street. The driver dismounted, and opened the door. Jack assisted
Mrs. Clifton to alight.
Bashfully, he followed the lady up the steps, and, at her bidding,
seated himself in an elegant apartment, furnished with a splendor
which excited his wonder. He had little time to look about him, for
Mrs. Clifton, without pausing to take off her street-attire,
hastened down stairs with an open daguerreotype in her hand.
"Can you remember Ida when she was brought to your house?" she
asked. "Did she look like this?"
"It is her image," said Jack, decidedly. "I should know it
anywhere."
"Then there can be no further doubt," said Mrs. Clifton. "It is my
child whom you have cared for so long. Oh, why could I not have
known it? How many sleepless nights and lonely days would it have
spared me! But God be thanked for this late blessing! Pardon me, I
have not yet asked your name."
"My name is Crump--Jack Crump."
"Jack?" said the lady, smiling.
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