She paused for a minute.  How plainly I could see the picture!  The arching trees, and the sunbeams playing fondly with her shining golden hair!  I held my breath to listen.

“What completely startled me,” said Julia, “was that Kate suddenly darted forward and ran to meet her, crying ‘Olivia!’”

“How does she know her?” I exclaimed.

“Hush.  Martin!  Don’t interrupt me.  The girl went so deadly pale, I thought she was going to faint, but she did not.  She stood for a minute looking at us, and then she burst into the most dreadful fit of crying!

“I ran to her, and made her sit down on a little bank of turf close by, and gave her my smelling-bottle, and did all I could to comfort her.  By-and-by, as soon as she could speak, she said to Kate, ’How did you find me out?’ and Kate told her she had not the slightest idea of finding her there.  ’Dr. Martin Dobree, of Guernsey, told me you were looking for me, only yesterday,’ she said.

“That took us by surprise, for Kate had not the faintest idea of seeing her.  I have always thought her name was Ollivier, and so did Kate.  ’For pity’s sake,’ said the girl, ’if you have any pity, leave me here in peace.  For God’s sake do not betray me!’

“I could hardly believe it was not a dream.  There was Kate standing over us, looking very stern and severe, and the girl was clinging to me—­to me, as if I were her dearest friend.  Then all of a sudden up came old Mother Renouf, looking half crazed, and began to harangue us for frightening mam’zelle.  Tardif, she said, would be at hand in a minute or two, and he would take care of her from us and everybody else.  ’Take me away!’ cried the girl, running to her; and the old woman tucked her hand under her arm, and walked off with her in triumph, leaving us by ourselves in the lane.”

“But what does it all mean?” asked my mother, while I paced to and fro in the dim room, scarcely able to control my impatience, yet afraid to question Julia too eagerly.

“I can tell you,” said Kate Daltrey, in her cold, deliberate tones; “she is the wife of my half-brother, Richard Foster, who married her more than four years ago in Melbourne; and she ran away from him last October, and has not been heard of since.”

“Then you know her whole history,” I said, approaching her and pausing before her.  “Are you at liberty to tell it to us?”

“Certainly,” she answered; “it is no secret.  Her father was a wealthy colonist, and he died when she was fifteen, leaving her in the charge of her step-mother, Richard Foster’s aunt.  The match was one of the stepmother’s making, for Olivia was little better than a child.  Richard was glad enough to get her fortune, or rather the income from it, for of course she did not come into full possession of it till she was of age.  One-third of it was settled upon her absolutely; the other two-thirds came to her for her to do what she pleased with it.  Richard was looking forward