very step. In that way I got on,
after a long time, to the boat-house, and as soon as I was inside it, I
went on my knees to hunt over the floor. I was still searching with my
back to the doorway, when I heard a soft, strange voice behind me say,
'Miss Fairlie.'"

"Miss Fairlie!"

"Yes, my old name--the dear, familiar name that I thought I had parted
from for ever. I started up--not frightened, the voice was too kind
and gentle to frighten anybody--but very much surprised. There, looking
at me from the doorway, stood a woman, whose face I never remembered to
have seen before--"

"How was she dressed?"

"She had a neat, pretty white gown on, and over it a poor worn thin
dark shawl. Her bonnet was of brown straw, as poor and worn as the
shawl. I was struck by the difference between her gown and the rest of
her dress, and she saw that I noticed it. 'Don't look at my bonnet and
shawl,' she said, speaking in a quick, breathless, sudden way; 'if I
mustn't wear white, I don't care what I wear. Look at my gown as much
as you please--I'm not ashamed of that.' Very strange, was it not?
Before I could say anything to soothe her, she held out one of her
hands, and I saw my brooch in it. I was so pleased and so grateful,
that I went quite close to her to say what I really felt. 'Are you
thankful enough to do me one little kindness?' she asked. 'Yes,
indeed,' I answered, 'any kindness in my power I shall be glad to show
you.' 'Then let me pin your brooch on for you, now I have found it.'
Her request was so unexpected, Marian, and she made it with such
extraordinary eagerness, that I drew back a step or two, not well
knowing what to do. 'Ah!' she said, 'your mother would have let me pin
on the brooch.' There was something in her voice and her look, as well
as in her mentioning my mother in that reproachful manner, which made
me ashamed of my distrust. I took her hand with the brooch in it, and
put it up gently on the bosom of my dress. 'You knew my mother?' I
said. 'Was it very long ago? have I ever seen you before?' Her hands
were busy fastening the brooch: she stopped and pressed them against my
breast. 'You don't remember a fine spring day at Limmeridge,' she said,
'and your mother walking down the path that led to the school, with a
little girl on each side of her? I have had nothing else to think of
since, and I remember it. You were one of the little girls, and I was
the other. Pretty, clever Miss Fairlie, and