"Yes, you did; I told you about her once, and you said I mustn't mention her to your mother, because she was hurt in the earthquake. We called her Undine, because she couldn't remember her real name, or anything that happened to her before the earthquake. That's her photograph, Beverly, I tell you it is--it is!" Beverly had grown very pale, but he made a great effort at self-control. "Don't talk nonsense, Marjorie," he said, almost angrily; "I tell you that is my sister's photograph. I can show you another just like it at home." "Beverly," cried Marjorie, clasping her hands, and speaking in a tone of sudden conviction, "I am not talking nonsense. That is the picture of the girl who has been at the ranch since last August. She was found in the street just after the earthquake, half buried under some ruins. She was unconscious, and they took her to a hospital. She has never been able to remember anything about herself since. Your sister was in the earthquake, too; you think she was killed, but perhaps--oh, Beverly dear, let us go home quick, and tell your uncle all about it." Mrs. Randolph was in the library reading. Twice she had put down her book, and gone to the window to look out. It was growing dark, and had begun to snow. "How late they are," she said to herself, with an anxious glance at the clock. "They ought to be back by this time, but I suppose they have stayed listening to Mammy's stories, and forgotten the time." She sat down again by the fire, and took up her book. But she was feeling restless and nervous that afternoon, though she could not have told why, and after reading a page, she closed the book again. "I wish they would come," she said, impatiently. "No one knows what may have happened; they may never have reached Mammy's cabin. I think I will go and speak to George. He will laugh at me for worrying, but that will be better than sitting here by myself. There's the clock striking six; they should have been in an hour ago." She rose, and was moving towards the door when she heard an approaching footstep, and in another moment her brother-in-law himself came into the room. "I was just coming to look for you, George," she said; "I am getting a little anxious about the children." "The children are all right," said the doctor, quietly, sinking into the arm-chair by the fire; "they came in half an hour ago, and have gone to their rooms. Marjorie was feeling a little upset, and I advised her to go and lie down till dinner-time." Mrs. Randolph turned towards the door again. "I think I will go and see if there is anything I can do for her," she said. "It isn't like Marjorie to give up; I'm afraid she isn't well." But Dr. Randolph held out a detaining hand.