‘It is scarcely worth mentioning further, for such resemblances are common; but at the first glance, this lady seemed very like a person I once knew.’ To his intense surprise, Jane Peartree now turned her eyes and looked steadily up at him. Her face was white as death, but firm and resolved. Again the peculiar likeness struck him, and he gazed in wonder; but she bore his gaze steadily, as she asked, in a low deep tone, very unlike that of her usual voice-- ‘Who is the person of whom you speak?’ ‘A lady--a married lady.’ ‘A friend of yours, sir?’ ‘Scarcely that; one whom I met on several occasions, and whose character I greatly admired.’ ‘Is she still living, sir?’ ‘No, she is dead,’ answered Sutherland. Jane Peartree turned her eyes away, and sighed heavily, while Adèle stepped to the side of the chair, and adjusted the pillows behind her head. ‘Her life was unhappy,’ Sutherland, continued, ‘and her death was very pitiful. She had just this lady’s eyes, her hair, even something of her voice. If a human being could rise from the grave, I should say this lady was the same; that I know is impossible. Ah! if she only lived--if I could only see her again--if I could only tell her of what has passed since she died!’ As he spoke, he quietly watched the invalid, and saw that she was still greatly agitated. Eager to spare her pain, though still strangely curious and suspicious, he changed the conversation, and talked lightly for some minutes to Adèle and Sister Ursula. Finally he glanced towards the door, and held out his hand to the invalid. ‘Good-night,’ he said. ‘Good-night, sir,’ said Jane Peartree, not turning her face again. ‘Good-night, Adèle,’ he said, smiling. ‘Good-night, monsieur,’ answered Adèle, looking at him with bright, almost worshipping eyes; then, lifting his hand to her lips, she kissed it gently. Accompanied by Sister Ursula, Sutherland descended to the lower part of the house, and entered a small sitting-room, or office, reserved for the superior’s private use. ‘Tell me something more of your invalid,’ he said quickly. ‘I feel rather interested in her. What did you say was her name?’ ‘Jane Peartree.’ ‘Jane Peartree?’ ‘Yes; but it may be assumed. I have noticed one thing which I may tell you in confidence. The initials on the clothes she wore when she came here are quite different.’ ‘Indeed.’ ‘Not “J. P.”--but “M. F.”’ Sutherland started in new surprise. ‘Impossible!’ he exclaimed. ‘Yes, “M. F.” Do you know any person with those initials? Who was the person to whom you referred upstairs?’ Sutherland’s reply was singular. ‘I cannot tell you; not, at least, to-night. Promise me, however, before I go, that this lady--she is a lady, that is clear, and very different to the usual inmates of the Home--shall not go away from Mount Eden until you hear from me again. In the meantime assure her, should she question you, that I have _not_ recognised her.’