she comes to
be possessed of such a lovely mosaic necklace as she wore to-night?
Perhaps it belongs to yourself, and you have lent it to her for the
occasion."

"No, indeed," was the answer; "it is not mine. It evidently belonged to
the child's mother, and was on her neck the night she was found in the
Forest."

"Then," said Sir Richard, "it is just possible it may be the means of
leading to the discovery of the girl's parentage, for the pattern is an
uncommon one. She is a striking-looking child, and it is strange that
her face haunts me with the idea that I have seen it somewhere before;
but that is impossible, as the girl tells me she has never been in
England, and I can never have met her here."

"It is curious," said Miss Drechsler; "but I also have the feeling that
I have seen some one whom she greatly resembles when I was in England
living in Gloucestershire with the Wardens."

"'Tis strange," said Lady Stanford, "that you should see a likeness to
some one whom you have seen and yet cannot name, the more so that the
face is not a common one."

"She is certainly a remarkable child," continued Miss Drechsler, "and a
really good one. She has a great love for her Bible, and I think tries
to live up to its precepts."

That evening Sir Richard and his wife talked together of the possibility
of by-and-by taking Frida into their house as companion to Ada,
specially whilst they were travelling about; and perhaps afterwards
taking her with them to England and continuing her education there, so
that if her relations were not found she might when old enough obtain a
situation as governess, or in some way turn her musical talents to
account.

The day after the concert, Frida returned with Miss Drechsler to
Dringenstadt, to remain a few days with her before returning to her
Forest home.

As they were leaving the Stanfords, and Frida had just sprung into the
carriage which was to convey them to the station, a young man who had
been present at the concert, and was a friend of the Stanfords, came
forward and asked leave to shake hands with her, and congratulated her
on her violin-playing. He was a good-looking young man of perhaps
three-and-twenty years, with the easy manners of a well-born gentleman.

After saying farewell, he turned into the house with the Stanfords, and
began to talk about the "fair violinist," as he termed her. "Remarkably
pretty girl," he said; "reminds me strongly of some one I have seen.
Surel