ened--half drowned. The
thunder is awful; will you take me in till Miss Vanbrugh returns?"

A light was quickly procured, and Olive came to divest the stranger of
her dripping garments.

"Thank you, no! I can assist myself--I always do."

And she tried to unfasten her shawl--a rich heavy fabric, and of gaudy
colours, when her trembling fingers failed; she knitted her brows, and
muttered some sharp exclamation in French.

"You had better let me help you," said Olive, gently, as, with a firm
hand, she took hold of the shivering woman, or girl, for she did not
look above seventeen, drew her to a seat, and there disrobed her of her
drenched shawl.

Not until then did Miss Rothesay pause to consider further about this
incognita, arrived in such a singular manner. But when, recovered
from her alarm the young stranger subsided into the very unromantic
occupation of drying her wet frock by the kitchen fire, Olive regarded
her with no small curiosity.

She stood, a picture less of girlish grace, than of such grace as
French fashion dictates. Her tall, well-rounded form struggled through
a painful compression into slimness; her whole attire had that peculiar
_tournure_ which we islanders term Frenchified. Nay, there was something
in the very tie of her neck-ribbon which showed it never could have
been done by English fingers. She appeared, all over, "a young lady from
abroad."

We have noticed her dress first, because that was most noticeable.
She herself was a fine, tall, well-modelled girl, who would have been
graceful had fashion allowed her. She had one beauty--a column-like neck
and well-set head, which she carried very loftily. Her features were
somewhat large, not pretty, and yet not plain. She had a good mouth and
chin; her eyes were very dark and silken-fringed; but her hair was fair.

This peculiarity caught Olive's eye at once; so much so, that she almost
fancied she had seen the face before, she could not tell where. She
puzzled about the matter, until the young guest, who seemed to make
herself quite at home, had dried her garments, and voluntarily proposed
that they should return to the drawing-room.

They did so, the stranger leading the way, and much to Olive's surprise,
seeming to thread with perfect ease the queer labyrinths of the house.

By this time the storm was over, and they found Mrs. Rothesay sitting
quietly waiting for tea. The young lady again apologised in her easy,
foreign manner, and ask