and leading her to Robert,
who stood in bodily presence, tall and dark against the one window,
presented her with a mixture of agitation and formality, as though they
had been utter strangers, and this was their first mutual introduction.

Increasing puzzle! He bowed rather awkwardly, and turning from her with
a stranger's embarrassment, he met the doubtful light from the window.
It fell on his face, and the enigma of the dream (a dream it seemed)
was at its height. She saw a visage like and unlike--Robert, and no
Robert.

"What is the matter?" said Caroline. "Is my sight wrong? Is it my
cousin?"

"Certainly it is your cousin," asserted Hortense.

Then who was this now coming through the passage--now entering the room?
Caroline, looking round, met a new Robert--the real Robert, as she felt
at once.

"Well," said he, smiling at her questioning, astonished face, "which is
which?"

"Ah, this is _you_!" was the answer.

He laughed. "I believe it is _me_. And do you know who _he_ is? You
never saw him before, but you have heard of him."

She had gathered her senses now.

"It _can_ be only one person--your brother, since it is so like you; my
other cousin, Louis."

"Clever little Oedipus! you would have baffled the Sphinx! But now, see
us together.--Change places; change again, to confuse her, Louis.--Which
is the old love now, Lina?"

"As if it were possible to make a mistake when you speak! You should
have told Hortense to ask. But you are not so much alike. It is only
your height, your figure, and complexion that are so similar."

"And I am Robert, am I not?" asked the newcomer, making a first effort
to overcome what seemed his natural shyness.

Caroline shook her head gently. A soft, expressive ray from her eye
beamed on the real Robert. It said much.

She was not permitted to quit her cousins soon. Robert himself was
peremptory in obliging her to remain. Glad, simple, and affable in her
demeanour (glad for this night, at least), in light, bright spirits for
the time, she was too pleasant an addition to the cottage circle to be
willingly parted with by any of them. Louis seemed naturally rather a
grave, still, retiring man; but the Caroline of this evening, which was
not (as you know, reader) the Caroline of every day, thawed his reserve,
and cheered his gravity soon. He sat near her and talked to her. She
already knew his vocation was that of tuition. She learned now he had
for some years been the tuto