s flesh and
blood."

"Yes, indeed," mocked the girl with another burst of merriment; "flesh
and blood, please, and very living! Why, cousin Landale, you that knew
Cecile de Savenaye so well have you forgotten two babes that were born
at your own house of Pulwick? I believe, 'tis true, I have somewhat
altered since you saw me last."

And again the old room echoed to the unwonted sound of a girl's
laughter.

Now was the hallucination clearing; but the reality evoked a new and
almost as poignant tenderness. Cecile--phantom of a life-time's love,
reborn in the flesh, young as on the last day of her earthly
existence, coming back into his life again, even the same as she had
left it! A second wonder, almost as sweet as the first! He clung to
it as one clings to the presence of a dream, and, joy unspeakable, the
dream did not melt away, but remained, smiling, beautiful, unchanged.

"Cecile's daughter ..." he murmured: "Cecile's self again; but she was
not so tall, I think," and drew trembling, reverent hands from her
head to her straight young shoulders. And then he started, crying in a
changed voice:

"How wet and cold you are! Come closer to the fire--sit you into this
chair, here, in the warmth."

He piled up the hearth with faggots till the flames roared again. She
dropped into the proffered chair with a little shiver; now that he
recalled her to it, she was wet and cold too.

He surveyed her with gathering concern.

"My child," he began, and hesitated, continuing, after a short pause
of musing--for the thought struck him as strange--"I may call you so,
I suppose; I that am nearly old enough to be your father; my mind was
so unhinged by your sudden appearance, by the wonderful resemblance,
that I have neglected all my duties as host. You will suffer from
this--what shall we do to comfort you? Here, Jem, good dog! Call
Rene!"

The old retriever who, concluding that the visitor was welcome, had
returned to his doze, here gathered his stiff limbs together, hobbled
out through the doorway to give two or three yelping barks at some
point on the stairs, and then crawl back to his cosy corner by the
hearth.

The girl laughed again. It was all odd, new, exciting. Adrian looked
down at her. Cecile, too, had had a merry heart, even through peril
and misfortune.

And now there were hasty steps upon the stairs, creaking above the
outer tumult of sea and wind; and, in accordance with the
long-established custom of sum