At last a carriage came rapidly up to their door, and Miss Holmes
sprang to open it. Maria remained in the dining-room. Suddenly an
uncanny fancy had seized her and terrified her. Suppose her father
should look different, like everything else? Suppose it should be to
her as if he had a new head? She therefore remained in the
dining-room, trembling. She heard her father's voice, loud and merry.
"Where is Maria?" Still, Maria did not stir. Then her father came
hurrying into the room, and behind him she who had been Ida Slome,
radiant and triumphant, in her plum-colored array, with the same
smile with which she had departed on her beautiful face. Harry caught
Maria in his arms, rubbed his cold face against her soft little one,
and kissed her.

"How is father's little girl?" he asked, with a break in his voice.

"Pretty well, thank you," replied Maria. She gave a helpless little
cling to her father, then she stood away.

"Speak to your new mother, darling," said Harry.

"How do _You do_?" said Maria, obediently, and Ida said, "You
darling," and then kissed her exactly as if she had been an
uncommonly well-constructed doll, with a clock-work system which
fitted her to take such a part with perfect accuracy.

Harry watched his wife and daughter rather anxiously. He seized the
first opportunity to ask Maria, aside, if she had been well, and if
she had been happy and comfortable at Mrs. White's. Then he wound up
with the rather wistful inquiry: