en bound up so tenderly. He did it for me in that
other world, just as you do in this one."

Hope now thrilled all over at this most unexpected revelation. But though
he glowed with delight and curiosity, he put on a calm voice and manner,
and begged her to tell him everything else she could remember that had
happened in that other life.

Finding him so serious, so sympathetic, and so interested, put this
remarkable girl on her mettle. She began to think very hard, and show
that intense power of attention she had always in reserve for great
occasions.

"Then you must not touch me nor speak to me," said she. "The past is
such a mist."

He obeyed, and left off binding her wrist; and now he literally hung upon
her words.

Then she took one step away from him; her bright eyes veiled themselves,
and seemed to see nothing external, but looked into the recesses of the
brain. Her forehead, her hand, her very body, thought, and we must try,
though it is almost hopeless, to convey some faint idea of her manner and
her words.

"Let--me--see."

Then she paused.

"I remember--WHITE SWANS."

A pause.

"Were they swans?"

"Or ships?"

"They floated down the river to the sea."

She paused.

"And the kind voice beside me said, 'Darling!' Papa never calls me
'darling.'"

"Yes, yes," whispered Hope, almost panting.

"'Darling, we must go with them to some other land, for we are poor.'"
She paused and thought hard. "Poor we must have been; very poor. I can
see that now that I am rich." She paused and thought hard. "But all was
peace and love. There were two of us, yet we seemed one."

Then in a moment Mary left the past, her eyes resigned the film of
thought, and shone with the lustre of her great heart, and she burst at
once into that simple eloquence which no hearer of hers from John Baker
to William Hope ever resisted. "Ah! sweet memories, treasures of the
past, why are you so dim and wavering, and this hard world so clear and
glaring it seems cut out of stone? Oh, if I had a fairy's wand, I'd say,
'Vanish fine house and servants--vanish wealth and luxury and strife; and
you come back to me, sweet hours of peace--and poverty--and love.'"

Her arms were stretched out with a grace and ardor that could embellish
even eloquence, when a choking sob struck her ear. She turned her head
swiftly, and there was William Hope, his hands working, his face
convulsed, and the tears running down his cheeks like the very rain.