you all that lies at my heart, and to ask for your
advice and guidance."

In all his lifetime, Jean Baptiste Constant had
not experienced so pure a joy as at that moment.
He felt a tremor of delight run through his
whole frame. His heart, long since frozen up,
melted before the sunshine of the girl's trusting,
loving face, looking into his and calling up a
bright vision of the past—his eyes filled with
tears, and the strong, hardened, man wept.

"God bless you!" he said; "those words
have given me the first thrill of real pleasure I
have ever felt since your mother was a girl, such
as you are now, in the little village of Marouille,
in France, where I first saw her."

Constant stopped the coach at the corner of
Great Grand-street, got out with Lily, and
walked the rest of the way to the hotel. He
paused as they were about to enter the house,
and said:

"You will not forget that your name is Lily
Blunt."

As Constant passed through the hall with Lily
to his own private apartments, the situation and
its attendant circumstance carried him back to
his old life at the Lilies of France, to that time
when Valérie was budding into beauty, and
stirring in his heart the flame of love long since
quenched. A sigh escaped him as he thought
of those days of hope, but the remembrance
read him a lesson.

After Lily had partaken of some refreshment
and rested for a little in the handsome sitting-
room behind the bar, Constant, who had been
attending to the affairs of the hotel, returned to
the room, and with considerable hesitation and
mystery of manner, requested her to perform a
service.

Lily jumped up eagerly, and expressed her
willingness to make herself useful to her
guardian in any way.

"I long," she said, "to be employed, to have
something to do, and if you will only let me be
your servant——"

Constant stopped her.

"You forget, Lily, that you are a lady," he
said. "I have no idea of making you a servant;
but on this one occasion will you oblige me
by——"

Lily interrupted him with an eager offer to
perform any service he might require.

"Well, listen," he said; "you shall be a
chambermaid for once, and take up this glass of
elder-flower water to the gentleman in the blue
room. Come, I will show you the way."

Lily took the silver salver from his hands, and
followed him to the foot of the grand staircase.

"It is the second room on the first landing,"
he said. "Knock at the door before you enter."

Lily ascended the softly-carpeted stair, and
proceeded as directed to the second door in
the corridor. She knocked gently and timidly.
There was no answer. She looked round and
saw Constant standing at the foot of the stairs,
watching her. She knocked again, and this
time a feeble voice called "Come in."

Lily opened the door and entered the room.
It was a magnificent apartment furnished in
blue and gold, with many ottomans and couches,
covered with skins and richly-embroidered cloths,
and, for the moment, Lily was so dazzled by the
splendour of the fittings, and her vision so lost
in the vastuess of the room, that she failed to
discover the occupant who bade her enter. At
last her eye was attracted by a movement on
one of the couches, and on advancing further
into the room, she discerned the figure of a
man reclining upon a heap of pillows. He was
an old man with grey hair and a very sallow
complexion.

Lily went up to the couch with the salver in,
her hand, and offered him the goblet of water.
The old man turned to take it; and, as he did
so, looked up in Lily's face. His outstretched
hand suddenly fell by his side, and he uttered a
cry of surprise.

"Again that face!" he exclaimed; "again
that bright vision that I have seen so often; in
life twice, in my dreams many times."

He passed his hand across his eyes, as if he
were doubting his senses, and imagined that he
was dreaming then. At length Lily spoke.

"I have been desired to bring you this, sir,"
she said, stooping towards him with the goblet.

"Then it's not a dream this time," he said,
"Who are you? Come nearer; let me touch
you."

It was now Lily's turn to be startled. She
hesitated, and retired a step, timidly.

"Don't be alarmed," he said. "I'm only a
poor, weak old man; old before my time, my
dear. Come close to me, and let ine touch your
hand."

He spoke kindly and tenderly; and Lily,
dismissing her foolish fears—for he was, as he
said, only a poor, weak old man—advanced to
the couch and held out her hand.

The old man took it and held it between his
own cold palms, and peered into the girl's face
curiously.

"The same blue eyes," he muttered, "the
same soft brown hair, just as I can remember
them—just as they are in the picture. Ah, you
are a bonny, bonny lass, just like her, just like
her. Thank you; it's very kind of you to come
up; come again, my dear, come again. Stop,
you may as well tell me your name."

"My name is Lily, sir."

"Lily, Lily," he repeated. "Ah, that is a
pretty name; and what else?"

"Blunt, sir," Lily replied.

The invalid, who had been reclining so
languidly upon the couch, apparently without the
strength to turn himself, started at the word,
and sprang to his feet.

"Blunt," he exclaimed, "Blunt! Am I dreaming,
or—or are you playing a trick upon me?"

Lily scarcely knew what to reply to these
inquiries. Who was this old man, and why had
the mention of her name so strangely excited
him?

The invalid sank back upon the couch again,
and sat gazing at Lily with a child-like wonder.

"Tell me," he said, "who are you? Who