“O, ever so much.  I mean to ask papa to live here forever,” and she looked enthusiastically towards the receding waves.

“Do you live here?” asked Dawn.

“No; my home is far away.  I come here to rest.”

“Was that what made you weep?  Was you weary?”

“Yes, dear.  My soul is very weary at times.”

“Is the sea weary when it moans?” and she looked wonderingly over the wide expanse of changing waves.

“I think it is; but I must leave you now; I see your friends are looking for you.”

But Dawn would not let her pass on.  She held her hand tighter, and said: 

“This is my papa, and this is my teacher.”

“I hope my child has not annoyed you, Miss,” said Mr. Wyman, as he gazed on the face of the beautiful stranger before them.

“Far from it, sir.  She has comforted me.  Children, under ordinary circumstances, are ever welcome, but when they bring proof-”

She stopped, fearful that she might not be understood.

“I comprehend it, Miss.  I saw another life than her own in her eyes, else I should not have permitted her to have gone to you.”

“I thank you both,” said the gentle girl, and bowing gracefully, she went towards the house.

“Is she not white, Miss Vernon?” asked Dawn, exultingly, when the stranger was out of hearing.

Yes, she is beautiful and pure.”

“I hope she was comforted, for her face has a look of sorrow, deeper than we often see on one so young,” remarked Mr. Wyman, who had been enlightened by Miss Vernon on Dawn’s strange application of soul-science.

“Yes, she was, papa.  Some one in the air made me speak and call her name.  It’s ‘Pearl’; is n’t it pretty?  O, see those clouds, papa,” she cried, with thrilling ecstasy; “I hope they will look just like that when I die.”

“You are weary now, darling; we must go in,” said her father, watching with jealous eyes the snow-white and crimson clouds which lay on the horizon, just above the foaming waves.

“There are some people here from L—­,” said Miss Vernon, as she and Mr. Wyman sat together on the piazza the next morning, watching the changing sea.

“Ah, who are they; any of our friends?”

“I have never seen them at your house.  Two ladies,—­a Mrs. Foster and sister.  Do you know them?”

“I know that there are such people in L—.  When did they arrive?  I have not seen them.”

“Last evening; but you do not look particularly pleased.  Will they disturb you?”

“I do not mean they shall, although they are busybodies, and know every one’s affairs better than their own.”

“So I judged by their conversation last evening, which I could not but overhear, as they talked so loud, their room being next to mine, and their door open.”

“Of whom were they speaking?”

“Of a Mr. and Mrs. Deane.  I think I have heard you allude to them.”