een, heard and unheard.

The message of the crazy old negress came back to her. Who was Miss Julie?
and who was the Mr. Pinckney that was to meet her, and where was the gate
at which they were to meet in such a secretive manner? Was it just
craziness, or was it possible that this was some real message delivered
years and years ago. A real lover's message which the old woman had once
been charged to deliver and which she had repeated automatically and like
a parrot.

Miss Julie--could it be possible that she meant Miss Juliet--The Juliet
Mascarene to whom she, Phyl, bore such a strong family likeness, could it
be possible that the likeness had started the old woman's mind working and
had recalled the message of a half-a-century ago to her lips.

It was a fascinating thought. Juliet had been in love with one of the
Pinckneys and this message was from a Pinckney and one day, perhaps, most
likely a fine spring day like to-day, Pinckney had given the negro girl a
message to give to Juliet, and the lovers and the message and the bright
spring day had vanished utterly and forever leaving only Prue.

The gate would no doubt be the garden gate. Phyl in all her life had never
given a thought to Love, she had known nothing of sentiment, that much
abused thing which is yet the salt of life, and Romance for her had meant
Adventure; all the same she was now weaving all sorts of threads into
dreams and fancies. What appealed to her most was her own likeness to
Juliet, the girl who had died so many, many years ago. A likeness
incomplete enough, according to Miss Pinckney, yet strong enough to awaken
memories in the mind of Prue.

CHAPTER VI

"Miss Pinckney," said Phyl, as they sat at luncheon that day, "you
remember you said yesterday that I was like Juliet Mascarene?"

"So you are," replied the other, "though the likeness is more noticeable
at first sight as far as the face goes--I've got a picture of her I will
show you, it's upstairs in her room, the one next yours on the same
piazza--why do you ask me?"

"I was thinking," replied Phyl, "that the old woman in the
kitchen--Prue--may have meant Juliet when she called me Julie, and that it
was the likeness that set her mind going."

"It's not impossible. Prue's like that crazy old clock Selina Pinckney
left me in her will. It'd tell you the day and the hour _and_ the minute
and the year and the month and the weather. A little man came out if it
was going to rain and a