When the twelve o’clock train stopped at the station next morning two passengers got out—a little old lady dressed with Quaker-like neatness, and a tall, grizzled, sunburnt man with a breezy, open-air look about him.

Tom and the Rector were both waiting on the platform, and hurried up to them. There was good news.

“Your granddaughter is better, Mrs. Smith,” the Rector said in his kind voice. “But she may not know you. You must not be alarmed at that. The doctor is much more hopeful this morning, and she calls continually for you. We trust it may soothe her to have you near her.”

The tears were streaming fast over Mrs. Smith’s wrinkled face. “Polly would never have no one but me to nurse her,” she said. “She was always like that from a baby. I came off the first minute I could. Mr. Smith wasn’t able to leave the shop, but Mr. Harding came with me. I’ve never travelled alone in my life, and I’d have lost my way sure enough without him. Mr. Harding’s from Australia, sir,” she added, looking at Tom, whom she had identified as Mr. Merivale. “And he’d be glad to see Miss Sampson if she’s still with Miss Merivale supposing ‘twas convenient.”

“I am going back to Woodcote now,” Tom said, looking at Mr. Harding. He had started violently at the first mention of his name by Mrs. Smith, but he spoke coolly enough. “Will you walk back with me? My aunt will be very glad to see you. Miss Sampson is now at the Rectory, but I am going to fetch her and my sister after lunch.”

The Rector’s trap was waiting outside, and Mrs. Smith was soon comfortably settled in it. She was too simple and homely to be shy, and it was plain both to the Rector and Tom that her distress at Pauline’s accident was largely mingled with delight at the prospect of having her to nurse. She spoke with eagerness to the Rector as they drove off of the time when she could take Polly back with her to Leyton.

“She’s a good sort,” Mr. Harding said, as he and Tom turned to walk up the hill. “I hope her Polly will soon be better. She is a governess, isn’t she? Price told me she didn’t spend much time with the old folks.”

Tom did not feel called upon to answer this. He was determined to find out at once how much Mr. Harding knew about Rhoda’s father and mother. “My aunt and I were talking about you yesterday, Mr. Harding, but we had no idea that you were in England.”

Mr. Harding turned his keen black eyes upon him. “No, I only landed last week.”

“My aunt has some reason to believe that Miss Sampson is related to her,” Tom hurried on. “You knew her father well, I believe?”

Mr. Harding’s answer was emphatic. “I should say I did, sir. Poor old Jack and I were boys together. Why, he married a cousin of mine, as good as a sister. And we should have been partners now if he hadn’t died. Some people never understood Jack, and after Jenny died he got queerer than ever; but he and I never had a cloud between us.”

Tom had stopped still in the road. The ground seemed to be swaying under his feet, and something caught him in the throat so that he could scarcely speak. “Was your cousin Rhoda’s mother?” he asked.

“Yes; she was their only child. I knew she was safe and happy with the M’Alisters, or I would have looked after her more. I’ve no chick nor child of my own, and I mean Rhoda to have a big slice of what I’ve got to leave.”

Tom did not catch the last words clearly. “My aunt’s sister married a Mr. James Sampson,” he hurried to say. “Was he related to Miss Sampson’s father?”

“Ah, that was Jim. He got lost in the bush, poor fellow. He had his girl with him. Yes, he was Jack’s brother. They lived close together in Melbourne. I fancy Rhoda was named after Jim’s little girl. They were about the same age; but Jenny died when Rhoda was a year old, and Jack left Melbourne for Adelaide.”

When Tom and Mr. Harding reached the house, he went hastily in search of his aunt. He found her in her own room, her eyes dim with weeping. She started up at the sight of his face.

“Oh, Tom, what have you come to tell me?”

In a few rapid words he made her understand. “You see how your mistake arose, Aunt Lucy. They both had the same name, Rhoda and Cousin Lydia’s little girl. And Cousin Lydia must have given that locket to Rhoda’s mother or to Rhoda’s father for her when they left Melbourne. But come down and speak to Mr. Harding. There is no need for him to know the mistake you fell into. Let us forget it, Aunt Lucy.”

At this, Miss Merivale’s tears began to flow afresh. “Oh, Tom, I have told Rhoda.”

“You told her? Why did you? I thought we had decided to wait till I had seen Thomson.”

“Tom, I could not help it. She was so miserable, poor child. She tried to hide it, but she could not hide it from me. She thought she had offended you. I do not know what she thought. How could you treat her so differently? Do you think you will get her to forgive you?”

A glimmer of a smile showed itself in Miss Merivale’s eyes as she spoke. But Tom could not smile yet.

“Well, you told her,” he said. “Did she believe you?”

“I don’t know. But she declared that nothing would induce her to claim her rights if she had any. She said there were no proofs, and if she had them she would not produce them. She spoke very strongly, Tom.”

Tom made no answer for a moment. “She has gone to the Rectory?” he said then.

“Yes, she was anxious to go. But she is going to walk home across the downs. I think she was anxious to avoid you, Tom. No wonder! How could you make her so unhappy?”

Tom did not point out that he had been far more unhappy, and that it was all Miss Merivale’s fault. He looked at his aunt, giving her now back smile for smile. “Aunt Lucy, will you go and fetch Rose?” he said.

Rose was delighted to see her aunt in the carriage when she ran out to meet it.

“Rhoda did not think you would be able to come, Aunt Lucy. Were you very much frightened when you heard about it? Poor Rhoda looks quite ill But Pauline is really better. She has slept since her grandmother came. She knew her directly, and has held her hand tight ever since. Poor old lady, she is so fond of her.”

“I wish we could move her to Woodcote,” Miss Merivale said. “I must speak to the doctor about it. I will go and see Mrs. Prance for a moment, Rosie darling. And then we will go home. Oh, my darling, I am so thankful!”

She held Rose close to her, and kissed her once or twice before she let her go. Till that moment she had hardly been able to realise her happiness in having Rose safe.

Rose began to talk again of Pauline as they were driving home. “How strange she could be so silent about her grandmother and yet be so fond of her, Aunt Lucy! Or do you think that she is only fond of her when she wants her? She was calling for her over and over again all last night.”

“I expect she is really fond of her, dear. As fond as she can be of anybody. I don’t wish to speak harshly of her, Rose, and we will do all we can for her. But you must not live with her again. Not because her grandmother is Mrs. Smith,” added Miss Merivale quickly, afraid that Rose might misunderstand her. “It isn’t that. Rhoda’s people are in the same rank of life as the Smiths, yet Rhoda is a true gentlewoman.”

“Aunt Lucy, I could not live with Pauline again,” Rose said earnestly. “Besides, I want to live at home. I believe I shall loathe the thought of a flat as long as I live. Pauline has effectually cured me of my desire to live in one.”

“She and Mrs. Smith must come to stay with us as soon as she can be moved,” Miss Merivale said. “Perhaps this illness will make her see things differently, Rosie. Let us hope so.”

“Rhoda knew all the time,” Rose said, after a moment’s pause. “Poor Pauline, how angry she would have been if she had guessed it! If I had been Rhoda, I should have told her.”

“We should not have known where to telegraph if it had not been for Rhoda. Her uncle—Mr. M’Alister’s brother, I mean—has a shop next door to Mr. Price. It was he who told Mr. Harding that Rhoda was with us. I fancy he was rather distressed to find that she was not with Mrs. M’Alister. But I think I have convinced him that we have taken good care of her.”

Tom and Mr. Harding were outside the porch together when the carriage drew up. While Mr. Harding talked to Rose, Tom drew his aunt aside.

“Aunt Lucy, will you go up to Rhoda?” he whispered.

She gave him one shining look, and went quickly in.

Rhoda had heard the carriage enter, and was standing in the middle of the room when Miss Merivale softly knocked and entered. There was a tremulous, eager, anxious look in the girl’s face. Happy as she was, she could not be quite happy till she was sure Miss Merivale was content.

But it was only a tiny shadow of doubt that clouded the brightness, and when Miss Merivale clasped her close, and kissed her as fondly and tenderly as she had kissed Rose a little while before, it nearly all fled away.

“My dear, I am delighted,” Miss Merivale said, with happy tears in her voice. “Tom has always been like a son to me, and now you will be my daughter.”

“And you are not sorry you asked me here?” Rhoda whispered. She felt she must ask the question once.

“Ask Tom if he thinks I am sorry,” returned Miss Merivale, kissing her again. And this was answer enough. Rhoda doubted no more.