I rose feebly to my feet, confused by the sudden announcement, and took her extended hand. We looked into each other's eyes for a moment without speaking. My own were rapidly filling with tears, and I could see her but dimly. “What a fine outlook you have!” she said, in a tremulous voice, turning suddenly to the window and looking out upon the trees now half stripped of their foliage by the autumn winds. We both stood staring out of the window in silence. For my part, I could not have spoken if I had known what to say. How she had changed! The blushing little miss who had awakened the pangs of first love in my youthful heart was a beautiful young woman, now full grown and arrayed in costly finery. Rayel was the first to speak. “You must be glad to meet again--you have loved each other so long,” said he. Honest Rayel! He knew our hearts--their longings, their histories, and also the vanity and pride that dwelt in them. Why should there be any concealment between her and me? “It has been a long time--a very long time to me, Hester, for I have loved you ever since we first met.” She turned toward me, her eyes filled with tears, and I drew her to my heart and kissed her fondly. “We have only known each other as children, Kendric,” said she. “Your heart may change and mine may change--let us wait and see.” Then she left us, promising to come again next day. CHAPTER X Hester and her maid looked in upon me every morning after that, until I was able to leave the hospital. During these visits we told each other the eventful story of our lives since the night of our parting at her father's gate. Her first appearance on the stage had been, as I suspected, literally represented in the play. For years she had been permitted to accompany her father behind the scenes, and nights when the cast was short she had played small parts with great success. The glamour and excitement of stage life had proved distasteful to her. She assured me that it was her intention never to go back to it, and this strengthened my hope that she would some day consent to become my wife. Rayel had told her, during my illness, the strange story of his life. She knew nothing, however, of his wonderful powers, until I had related to her some of the experiences which had revealed them to me. He had said nothing to her, I learned, about our discovery of the picture. “Who painted the remarkable portrait of you which we saw at the theatre?” I asked her one day. “It was painted, I believe, by a French nobleman, who presented it to me here in New York. I suppose it looks a little as I did once, but it is certainly too flattering and much too maidenly for me now. “The Frenchman is an impostor and worse,” I said. “The portrait was painted by Rayel and sold to a broker of the name of Paddington, from whom the Frenchman borrowed or bought it.” Her amazement could scarcely be overestimated when I told her what occurred at Mr. Paddington's dinner-party.