“Miss Ollivier,” I said, “I have no claim of old acquaintance or friendship, yet it is possible I might answer those questions, if you could prevail upon yourself to tell me the circumstances of your former life.  In a few weeks I shall be in a position to show you more friendship than I can do now.  I shall have a home of my own, and a wife who will be your friend more fittingly, perhaps, than myself.”

“I knew it,” she answered, half shyly.  “Tardif told me you were going to marry your cousin Julia.”

Just then we heard the fold-yard gate swing to behind some one who was coming to the house.

CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.

ONE IN A THOUSAND.

I had altogether forgotten that Captain Carey’s yacht was waiting for me off the little bay below; and I sprang quickly to the door in the dread that he had followed me.

It was an immense relief to see only Tardif’s tall figure bending under his creel and nets, and crossing the yard slowly.  I hailed him and he quickened his pace, his honest features lighting up at the sight of me.

“How do you find mam’zelle, doctor?” were his first eager words.

“All right,” I said; “going on famously.  Sark is enough to cure any one and any thing of itself, Tardif.  There is no air like it.  I should not mind being a little ill here myself.”

“Captain Carey is impatient to be gone,” he continued.  “He sent word by me that you might be visiting every house in the island, you had been away so long.”

“Not so very long,” I said, testily; “but I will just run in and say good-by, and then I want you to walk with me to the cliff.”

I turned back for a last look and a last word.  No chance of learning her secret now.  The picture was as perfect as when I had had the first glimpse of it, only her face had grown, if possible, more charming after my renewed scrutiny of it.

There are faces that grow upon you the longer and the oftener you look upon them; faces that seem to have a veil over them, which melts away like the thin, fine mist of the morning upon the cliffs, until they flash out in their full color and beauty.  The last glance was eminently satisfactory, and so was the last word.

“Shall I send you the hair?” asked Miss Ollivier, returning practically to a matter of business.

“To be sure,” I answered.  “I shall dispose of it to advantage, but I have not time to wait for it now.”

“And may I write a letter to you?”

“Yes,” was my reply:  I was too pleased to express myself more eloquently.

“Good-by,” she said; “you are a very good doctor to me.”

“And friend?” I added.

“And friend,” she repeated.

That was the last word, for I was compelled to hurry away.  Tardif accompanied me to the cliff, and I took the opportunity to tell him as pleasantly as I could the extravagant charge his mother had made upon her lodger, and the girl’s anxiety about the future.  A more grieved look never came across a man’s face.