as Miss Ollivier."

She paused for a minute. How plainly I could see the picture! The
arching trees, and the sunbeams playing fondly with her shining golden
hair! I held my breath to listen.

"What completely startled me," said Julia, "was that Kate suddenly
darted forward and ran to meet her, crying 'Olivia!'"

"How does she know her?" I exclaimed.

"Hush. Martin! Don't interrupt me. The girl went so deadly pale, I
thought she was going to faint, but she did not. She stood for a minute
looking at us, and then she burst into the most dreadful fit of crying!

"I ran to her, and made her sit down on a little bank of turf close by,
and gave her my smelling-bottle, and did all I could to comfort her.
By-and-by, as soon as she could speak, she said to Kate, 'How did you
find me out?' and Kate told her she had not the slightest idea of
finding her there. 'Dr. Martin Dobree, of Guernsey, told me you were
looking for me, only yesterday,' she said.

"That took us by surprise, for Kate had not the faintest idea of seeing
her. I have always thought her name was Ollivier, and so did Kate. 'For
pity's sake,' said the girl, 'if you have any pity, leave me here in
peace. For God's sake do not betray me!'

"I could hardly believe it was not a dream. There was Kate standing over
us, looking very stern and severe, and the girl was clinging to me--to
_me_, as if I were her dearest friend. Then all of a sudden up came old
Mother Renouf, looking half crazed, and began to harangue us for
frightening mam'zelle. Tardif, she said, would be at hand in a minute or
two, and he would take care of her from us and everybody else. 'Take me
away!' cried the girl, running to her; and the old woman tucked her hand
under her arm, and walked off with her in triumph, leaving us by
ourselves in the lane."

"But what does it all mean?" asked my mother, while I paced to and fro
in the dim room, scarcely able to control my impatience, yet afraid to
question Julia too eagerly.

"I can tell you," said Kate Daltrey, in her cold, deliberate tones; "she
is the wife of my half-brother, Richard Foster, who married her more
than four years ago in Melbourne; and she ran away from him last
October, and has not been heard of since."

"Then you know her whole history," I said, approaching her and pausing
before her. "Are you at liberty to tell it to us?"

"Certainly," she answered; "it is no secret. Her father was a wealthy
colonist, and he died when she was f