and haven't done much of anything
since. You see before you, Mademoiselle, a very undistinguished young
man, who has signally failed to accomplish the dream of his boyhood,
which was to be a great artist like Raphael or Angelo. Instead of being
famous I am but a poor Lieutenant in the forces of Virginia."

"You have a mother, father, brothers and sisters?" she interrogated.
She did not understand his allusion to the great artists of whom she
knew nothing. She had never before heard of them. She leaned the poker
against the chimney jamb and turned her face toward him.

"Mother, father, and one sister," he said, "no brothers. We were a
happy little group. But my sister married and lives in Baltimore. I am
here. Father and mother are alone in the old house. Sometimes I am
terribly homesick." He was silent a moment, then added: "But you are
selfish, you make me do all the telling. Now I want you to give me a
little of your story, Mademoiselle, beginning as I did, at the first."

"But I can't," she replied with childlike frankness, "for I don't know
where I was born, nor my parents' names, nor who I am. You see how
different it is with me. I am called Alice Roussillon, but I suppose
that my name is Alice Tarleton; it is not certain, however. There is
very little to help out the theory. Here is all the proof there is. I
don't know that it is worth anything."

She took off her locket and handed it to him.

He handled it rather indifferently, for he was just then studying the
fine lines of her face. But in a moment he was interested.

"Tarleton, Tarleton," he repeated. Then he turned the little disc of
gold over and saw the enameled drawing on the back,--a crest clearly
outlined.

He started. The crest was quite familiar.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded in English, and with such blunt
suddenness that she was startled. "Where did it come from?"

"I have always had it."

"Always? It's the Tarleton crest. Do you belong to that family?"

"Indeed I do not know. Papa Roussillon says he thinks I do."

"Well, this is strange and interesting," said Beverley, rather to
himself than addressing her. He looked from the miniature to the crest
and back to the miniature again, then at Alice. "I tell you this is
strange," he repeated with emphasis. "It is exceedingly strange."

Her cheeks flushed quickly under their soft brown and her eyes flashed
with excitement.

"Yes, I know." Her voice fluttered; her hands were claspe