“Although I never saw her, yet there is an expression in her face that is familiar”—­Milford went on to say—­“very familiar; but it awakens, I cannot tell why, a feeling of pain.  This face is a happy face; and yet t seems every moment as if it would change into a look of sadness—­yea, of deep sorrow and suffering.”

“This may arise, and no doubt does, from the melancholy history connected with her, that I have just related.”

“Perhaps that is the reason,” Milford returned, thoughtfully.  “And yet I know not how to account for the strangely familiar expression of her face.”

“Did you ever see a picture in your life that had not in it some feature that was familiar?” asked Perkins.

“Perhaps not,” the friend replied, and then sat in mental abstraction for some moments.  He was not satisfied with this explanation, and was searching his memory for the original of that peculiar expression which had struck him so forcibly.  He was sure that it did exist, and that he had looked upon it no very long time before.  But he tried in vain to fix it.  The impression floated still in his mind only as a vague idea.

“There!  I have it!” he at length exclaimed, but with something of disappointment in his tones.  “I remember that the young seamstress we were speaking of a few days ago, a single glimpse of whose face I obtained, had that very look which strikes me as familiar in this picture.  I thought I had seen it somewhere else.”

Perkins started, and looked surprised and agitated.  But this was only momentary.

“Now you speak of her,” he said, calmly, “I remember that I always thought of Eugenia when I saw her, which is no doubt the reason why I have felt strongly interested for the young stranger, who has doubtless seen better days.  I related to you, I believe, the adventure I had near the bridge, in which she was concerned?”

“You did.  I wonder what in the world takes her over to Charlestown so often?  She goes, I believe, almost every day, and usually late in the afternoon.  Several persons have spoken of her to me; but none seemed to know her errand there, or to have any knowledge of her whatever.”

“There is some mystery connected with her, certainly.  This afternoon I went in to make some inquiries in regard to her of Berlaps.  I was just in time to hear Michael, his salesman, give her some insulting language, for which I rebuked the fellow sharply.”

“Indeed!  How did she take it?” said Milford.

“She did not seem to notice him, but glided quickly past, as he bent over the counter toward her, and left the store.”

“Did you see her face?”

“No.  Her vail was closely drawn, as usual,” answered Perkins.

“I don’t know why it is, but there is something about this young female that interests me very much.  Have you yet learned her name?”

“It is Lizzy Glenn—­so I was told at the clothing store for which she works.”