r restlessly. It was a magical answer to her thoughts when
Anne observed:

"I met your husband as I drove through Kingcombe. He desired me to
tell you he was detained a little, but would be here ere long. How very
thoughtful and good he is!"

Agatha said "Yes"--a mere "Yes," quiet and low.

Miss Valery made no further remark, but sat a long time, absently
gazing over the low-lying sweep of country which gradually melted into a
greyness that looked like sea.

"Is it the sea?" asked Mrs. Harper.

"No, it lies yonder, behind the hill opposite--where there is the smoke
of the furze burning. From that spot I should think one could trace the
line of coast almost to Weymouth. Do you remember ever seeing Weymouth?"

"No! how could I?" returned Agatha, surprised by the suddenness of the
question, and its form. "I never was in Dorsetshire before."

Anne said something, either in jest or earnest, about one's often
fancying one has seen places in a previous existence, and changed the
theme by pointing out the view on the other hand. "My house, Thornhurst,
lies in that direction. You must come and see me soon, and we will talk
more pleasantly than I can do to-day. It is so strange to be sitting
here with Mrs. Locke Harper."

"Why so? What makes you so often call me by that name?"

"Only a whim I have. But is it not a good name--a beautiful name? Ah,
you child!--you poor little one! To think of _you_ becoming Mrs. Locke
Harper!"

There was a pathos--a kind of tender retrospection in Anne Valery's
manner as she touched the brown curls and smoothed the neat dress,
which--riding hat and skirt having been laid aside or tucked up--made
a pretty mountain-maiden out of Nathanael's wife. Agatha never could
understand the peculiar fondness with which Miss Valery sometimes
regarded her--to-day especially. She seemed constantly on the point of
saying something--which she never did say. At last she rose from the
stone seat.

"We will talk another day. We must go now." Yet she lingered. "Just
let us stand here, in this exact spot; and look at the view." She
looked--her eyes absorbing it from every point, as one drinks in, for
the last time, a long-familiar draught of landscape beauty.. "My dear!"

The whisper was strangely soft--even solemn.

"You will remember, dear, it was I that brought you here first. You'll
come here sometimes, will you not?"

"Oh, very often indeed! It is a delicious place."

"I thought so when I was your