him, and see if he is at all like my idea of a literary
person. I would not suppose, though, there would be much to interest
him here; the only rarities he will find are possibly new phases of
ignorance and coarseness and crime."

Miss Gladden thought, as she looked at Lyle, that if the new-comer did
not find rare beauty of mind and soul, as well as of form and face, in
that secluded region, he certainly must be very unappreciative; but
she only said:

"You seem to have forgotten what Ned said of his brother, that his
love of the beautiful was so intense, he doubted whether he would ever
want to leave the scenery and surroundings here."

"That was simply one of Mr. Rutherford's extravagant expressions,"
Lyle replied, "the natural surroundings here are certainly beautiful,
but their beauty only makes the conditions mentally and morally the
more painfully conspicuous, and if I can see the contrast so plainly,
who have always lived here and known no other life, how must it look
to one such as he!"

"Why do you always insist upon it so strongly that you have never
known any other life than this?" inquired Miss Gladden.

"Why?" asked Lyle, in surprise, "I suppose simply because it is a
fact, the one hateful truth that I despise, and so I say it over and
over to myself, to check these foolish dream-fancies of mine, that
seem as if I had known something better sometime."

Lyle spoke with more bitterness than Miss Gladden had ever heard
before, and the latter answered gently:

"If I were in your place, Lyle dear, I would not try to check these
fancies; I would encourage them."

Lyle gazed at her friend in astonishment. "Encourage them!" she
repeated, "I don't understand your meaning, why would you advise
that?"

"To see to what they would lead, my dear." Then, as Lyle looked
bewildered, she continued:

"Did it never occur to you, Lyle, that these fancies, as you call
them, might possibly be an effort on the part of memory to recall
something, long ago forgotten?"

"I never thought of such a possibility," she replied, slowly.

Miss Gladden threw one arm about her caressingly.

"If these were mere fancies why should they occur so persistently, and
why should there be this sense of familiarity, of which you have
spoken, with other and far different associations than these, unless
there is some distinct image hidden away in the recesses of your
brain, which your mind is trying to recall?"

Lyle had grown very pa