le; she had caught the idea which Miss Gladden
was trying to convey, and her form trembled, while her lips and
delicate nostrils quivered with suppressed agitation.

"Leslie," she cried, "do you mean that you think it possible there is
any reality in it,--that I have ever known a different life from
this,--a life anything like that which seems to come back to me?"

"I think it not only possible, but probable," said her friend, drawing
the trembling girl closer to herself, "and that is why I want you to
encourage these impressions, and see if you will not, after a time, be
able to recall the past more definitely."

"But why do you believe this?" questioned Lyle, "How did you ever
think of it?"

"When you first told me of your fancies, as you called them, and of
your dreams, constantly recurring since your earliest childhood, I
felt that they must be produced by something that had really occurred,
some time in the past, but perhaps so long ago that only the faintest
impression was left upon your mind; but however faint, to me it seemed
proof that the reality had existed. The more I have questioned you,
the more I have become convinced of this, and I find I am not alone in
my opinion."

"Have you talked with Jack, and does he think as you do?" Lyle
questioned. Miss Gladden answered in the affirmative.

"Is that the reason he has asked me so often regarding my early
life?"

"Yes, he has questioned you, hoping you might be able to recall
something of those years which you say seem to you only a blank. We
can only surmise regarding your early life, but if you could recall
some slight incident, or some individual, it might prove whether our
surmises were correct." Then, as Lyle remained silent, Miss Gladden
continued:

"That face which you always see in your dreams, must be the face of
some one you have really seen and known."

"Yes," Lyle answered dreamily, "I have often thought of that, and have
tried to remember when, or where, it could have been."

For a few moments, both were silent; Lyle, in her abstraction,
loosened her hair, and it fell around her like a veil of fine-spun
gold. An idea suddenly occurred to Miss Gladden, and rising from her
chair, she gathered up the golden mass, and began to rearrange and
fasten it, Lyle scarcely heeding her action, so absorbed was she in
thought.

When she had completed her work, she looked critically at Lyle for a
moment, and seeming satisfied with the result, asked he