d.

"Ah! you are come!" she breathed out, in a soft, quiet voice, and she
smiled slowly, and gazed intently.

I knew her now. Having only once seen that sort of face, with that cast
of fine and delicate featuring, I could not but know her.

"Miss de Bassompierre," I pronounced.

"No," was the reply, "not Miss de Bassompierre for _you!_" I did not
inquire who then she might be, but waited voluntary information.

"You are changed, but still you are yourself," she said, approaching
nearer. "I remember you well--your countenance, the colour of your
hair, the outline of your face...."

I had moved to the fire, and she stood opposite, and gazed into me; and
as she gazed, her face became gradually more and more expressive of
thought and feeling, till at last a dimness quenched her clear vision.

"It makes me almost cry to look so far back," said she: "but as to
being sorry, or sentimental, don't think it: on the contrary, I am
quite pleased and glad."

Interested, yet altogether at fault, I knew not what to say. At last I
stammered, "I think I never met you till that night, some weeks ago,
when you were hurt...?"

She smiled. "You have forgotten then that I have sat on your knee, been
lifted in your arms, even shared your pillow? You no longer remember
the night when I came crying, like a naughty little child as I was, to
your bedside, and you took me in. You have no memory for the comfort
and protection by which you soothed an acute distress? Go back to
Bretton. Remember Mr. Home."

At last I saw it all. "And you are little Polly?"

"I am Paulina Mary Home de Bassompierre."

How time can change! Little Polly wore in her pale, small features, her
fairy symmetry, her varying expression, a certain promise of interest
and grace; but Paulina Mary was become beautiful--not with the beauty
that strikes the eye like a rose--orbed, ruddy, and replete; not with
the plump, and pink, and flaxen attributes of her blond cousin Ginevra;
but her seventeen years had brought her a refined and tender charm
which did not lie in complexion, though hers was fair and clear; nor in
outline, though her features were sweet, and her limbs perfectly
turned; but, I think, rather in a subdued glow from the soul outward.
This was not an opaque vase, of material however costly, but a lamp
chastely lucent, guarding from extinction, yet not hiding from worship,
a flame vital and vestal. In speaking of her attractions, I would not
exaggerate lan