Again the handsome teeth were visible, while the stranger hoped she would find the twins in a prosperous condition. On the green in front of the house a little child was waiting to welcome grandma; and Mildred, who was fond of children, threw back her thick brown veil to look at it, nor did she drop it again, for the road now wound through a mountainous district, and in her delight at the wild, picturesque scenery which met her view at every turn, she forgot that she was not alone, and when at last they reached the summit of a long, steep hill, she involuntarily exclaimed: “Isn’t it grand?” “You are not accustomed to mountainous views, perhaps,” said the stranger, and then for the first time Mildred became conscious that a pair of soft, dark eyes were bent upon her with a searching, burning gaze, from which she intuitively shrank. Ever since her veil had been removed that same look had been fixed upon her, and to himself the stranger more than once had said, “If it _were_ possible; but no, it cannot be;” and yet those starry eyes and that nut-brown hair, how they carried him back to the long ago. Could there be two individuals so much alike, and yet nothing to each other? Some such idea passed through his mind as he sat watching her beautiful face, and determined at last to question her, he addressed her as we have seen. “Yes, I am accustomed to mountain scenery,” she replied, “though not as grand as this.” “Were you born among the New England hills?” was the next question put to her, and the answer waited for, oh, so eagerly. For an instant Mildred hesitated, while the hot blood stained her face and neck, and then she replied: “I was born in New York City,” while over the fine features of the gentleman opposite there fell a shade of disappointment. Mildred had interested him strangely; and with a restless desire to know more of her history, he continued: “Pardon me, miss; but you so strongly resemble a friend I have lost that I would like to know your name?” Again Mildred hesitated, while the name of Howell trembled on her lips, but reflecting that she had no longer a right to it, she answered: “My name, sir, is Miss Hawley.” Something in her manner led the stranger to think she did not care to be questioned further, and bowing slightly he resumed his book. Still his mind was constantly dwelling upon the young girl, who met his curious glance so often that she began to feel uneasy, and was glad when they stopped at last at the Stevens Hotel. The stranger helped her out, holding her dimpled hand in his for a single moment, and looking down again into the dark bright eyes, as if he fain would read there that what he had so long believed was false. He knew that he annoyed her, but he could not help it. Every movement which she made mystified him more and more, and he looked after her until she disappeared through the hall and was admitted to the chamber of her friend and former teacher.