"This is the way of it," she continued of her own prompting. "Some years
ago, my father, Uel, the merchant, received a letter from an old friend
of his father's, telling him that he was about to return to
Constantinople after a long absence in the East somewhere, and asking if
he, Uel, would assist the servant who was bearer of the note in buying
and furnishing a house. Uel did so, and when the stranger arrived, his
home was ready for him. I was then a little girl, and went one day to
see the Prince of India, his residence being opposite Uel's on the other
side of the street. He was studying some big books, but quit them, and
picked me up, and asked me who I was? I told him Uel was my father. What
was my name? Lael, I said. How old was I? And when I answered that also,
he kissed me, and cried, and, to my wonder, declared how he had once a
child named Lael; she looked like me, and was just my age when she
died"--

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Sergius.

"Yes, and he then said Heaven had sent me to take her place. Would I be
his Lael? I answered I would, if Uel consented. He took me in his arms,
carried me across the street and talked so Uel could not have refused
had he wanted to."

The manner of the telling was irresistible. At the conclusion, she
turned to him and said, with emotion: "There, now. You see I really have
two fathers, and you know how I came by them: and were I to recount
their goodness to me, and how they both love me, and how happy each one
of them is in believing me the object of the other's affection, you
would understand just as well how I know no difference between them."