veil
of the future? No one could say; perhaps she herself was scarcely
conscious, but as they landed, Miss Gladden noted the new expression
dawning in her eyes, and as the friends and lovers separated for the
night, each one avowing that day to have been one of the most
delightful of their whole lives, she wound her arm about Lyle in
sisterly fashion, and drew her into her own room. Lyle, as was her
custom, dropped upon a low seat beside her friend, but was silent.

"Are you looking backward or forward, to-night, Lyle?" asked Miss
Gladden, taking the lovely face in both her hands, and gazing into the
beautiful eyes.

Lyle's color deepened slightly, as she replied:

"I hardly know; it seems sometimes as if I were looking into an
altogether different life from this, a different world from that in
which I have lived."

"How so, my dear?" inquired her friend.

"I scarcely know how to describe it myself," she replied; then asked
abruptly, "Miss Gladden, do you believe we have ever had an existence
prior to this? that we have lived on earth before, only amid different
surroundings?"

"No," answered Miss Gladden, "I can see no reason for such a belief as
that; but why do you ask?"

"Only because it seems sometimes as if that were the only way in which
I could account for some of my strange impressions and feelings."

"Tell me about them," said Miss Gladden, interested.

"They are so vague," Lyle replied, "I hardly know how to describe
them, but I have always felt them, more or less. When I read of life
amid scenes of refinement and beauty, there is always an indefinable
sense of familiarity about it all; and since you and Mr. Houston have
been here, and I have lived such a different life,--especially since
we have sung together so much,--the impression is much more vivid
than before; even the music seems familiar, as if I had heard it all,
or something like it, long ago, and yet it is utterly impossible,
living the life I have. It must have been only in my dreams, those
strange dreams I used to have so often, and which come to me even
now."

"And what are these dreams, dear? You have never before spoken to me
of them."

"No," Lyle answered, "I have never spoken of them to any one; they
have always been rather vague and indefinite, like the rest of my
strange impressions and fancies; only they are all alike, it is almost
precisely the same dream, no matter when it comes to me. There is only
one feature that is