ery house in the island, you had been
away so long."

"Not so very long," I said, testily; "but I will just run in and say
good-by, and then I want you to walk with me to the cliff."

I turned back for a last look and a last word. No chance of learning
her secret now. The picture was as perfect as when I had had the first
glimpse of it, only her face had grown, if possible, more charming after
my renewed scrutiny of it.

There are faces that grow upon you the longer and the oftener you look
upon them; faces that seem to have a veil over them, which melts away
like the thin, fine mist of the morning upon the cliffs, until they
flash out in their full color and beauty. The last glance was eminently
satisfactory, and so was the last word.

"Shall I send you the hair?" asked Miss Ollivier, returning practically
to a matter of business.

"To be sure," I answered. "I shall dispose of it to advantage, but I
have not time to wait for it now."

"And may I write a letter to you?"

"Yes," was my reply: I was too pleased to express myself more
eloquently.

"Good-by," she said; "you are a very good doctor to me."

"And friend?" I added.

"And friend," she repeated.

That was the last word, for I was compelled to hurry away. Tardif
accompanied me to the cliff, and I took the opportunity to tell him as
pleasantly as I could the extravagant charge his mother had made upon
her lodger, and the girl's anxiety about the future. A more grieved look
never came across a man's face.

"Dr. Martin," he said, "I would have cut off my hand rather than it had
been so. Poor little mam'zelle! Poor old mother! She is growing old,
sir, and old people are greedy. The fall of the year is dark and cold,
and gives nothing, but takes away all it can, and hoards it for the
young new spring that is to follow. It seems almost the nature of old
age. Poor old mother! I am very grieved for her. And I am troubled,
troubled about mam'zelle. To think she has been fretting all the winter
about this, when I was trying to find out how to cheer her! Only five
pounds left, poor little soul! Why! all I have is at her service. It is
enough to have her only in the house, with her pretty ways and sweet
voice. I'll put it all right with mam'zelle, sir, and with my poor old
mother too. I am very sorry for _her_."

"Miss Ollivier has been asking me to sell her hair," I said.

"No, no," he answered hastily, "not a single hair! I cannot say yes to
that. The pre