an intense assurance, a heartfelt
certainty. "Oh yes, my lady--yes, _indeed_! There was no doubt
_possible_. When she was looking at the mill model she had got sight of
two little figures--just dollies--that were meant for mother, and her
sister who died in Australia--my real mother, you know, only I was but
four years old--and the dear old soul went quite mazed about it, saying
that was herself and _her_ sister that died in England, and they were
twins the same as mother and _her_ sister. And it was not till she said
names Dr. Nash found out how it was all made up of what we told little
Davy last year...."

"And you made sure," said Gwen, interrupting, "that you remembered
telling little Davy all these things last year?" It took all Gwen's
self-command to say this. She was glad to reach the last word.

Widow Thrale looked hurt, almost indignant. "Why, my lady," said she,
"we _must_ have! Else how could she have known them?" Do not censure her
line of argument. Probably at this very hour it is being uttered by a
hundred mouths, even as--so says a claimant to knowledge--thirteen
earthquakes are always busy, somewhere in the world, at every moment of
the day.

Gwen could never give up the attempt, having got thus far. But she could
see that hints were useless. "I think I can tell you," said she. And
then she pitied the dawn of bewilderment on the unconscious face before
her, even while she tried to fortify herself with the thought that what
she had to tell was not bad in itself--only a revelation of a lost
past.... Well--why not let it go? Dust and ashes, dead and done with!...
But this vacillation was short-lived.

Mrs. Thrale's bewilderment found words. "You can ... _tell_ me!" she
said, not much above a whisper. How could she hint at calling her
ladyship's words in question, above her breath?

Gwen, very pale but collected, rose to the occasion. "I can tell you
what has come to my knowledge about Mrs. Prichard's history. I cannot
doubt its correctness." It crossed her mind then that the telling of it
would come easier if she ignored what knowledge she had of the other
twin sister. So far as Widow Thrale knew, there was nothing outside what
had come to light through this incident. She went steadily on, not
daring to look at her hearer. "Mrs. Prichard was one of two sisters,
whose father owned a flour-mill near London. She married, and her
husband committed forgery and was transported. He was sent to Van
Diemen's