hat's the stuff?"

"When I came out this morning," said the lady, glancing at Faith and
then down again, "I did not expect to come here. And--I have brought no
stuff. Can you send some one down to the village?--this young lady,
perhaps.--May I take her with me now?"

"Why of course you may!" said Miss Bezac delightedly.--"Just as much as
if I was glad to get rid of her--which I aint,--and am too,--for she's
tired to death, and I was just wishing somebody that wasn't would take
her home. Or some horses."

There was a sweet amused play of the lips in answer to this lucid
statement of facts, and then turning towards Faith, the stranger said,
"Will you go?"--the words were in the lowest of sweet tones.

"Where do you wish me to go?" said Faith, coming a step forward.

"With me--down into the village."

"I will go," said Faith. "Then I will take these two mantillas, Miss
Bezac,--and you shall have them the day after to-morrow."

The straw bonnet and shawl were put on in another minute, and not
waiting for her gloves she followed the "blue bird" to the carriage,
rather pleased with the adventure.

The little ungloved hand took firm hold of hers as they stepped out of
Miss Bezac's door, and but that the idea was absurd Faith would have
thought it was trembling. Once in the carriage, the two side by side on
the soft cushions, the orders given to the footman, the coach rolling
smoothly down the hill, the stranger turned her eyes full upon Faith;
until the tears came too fast, quenching the quivering smile on her
lips. Her head dropped on Faith's shoulder, with a little cry of,
"Faith, do you know who I am?"

A sort of whirlwind of thoughts swept over Faith--nothing definite; and
her answer was a doubtful, rather troubled, "No."--

"I know who you are!" said the stranger. "You are Mignonette."

"Who told you so?" said Faith, drawing back from her to look.

"Some one who knew!"--the face was lovely in its April of mischief and
tears.

Faith's face grew very grave, with doubt, and bewilderment, and growing
certainty, and drew yet further off. Rosy blushes, more and more
witchingly shy, chased in and out of her cheeks; till obeying the
certainty which yet was vague, Faith's head stooped and her two hands
covered her face. She was drawn back into the stranger's arms, and her
hands and face (what there could) were covered with kisses.

"Faith, is it strange your sister should know?--and why don't you let
me have the r