But at the first glance she was as one electrified. Sitting upright, pallid and eager, she gazed at the superscription, her face growing radiant with hope and joy. At length she rose and, turning about, looked forward along the deck, gay with its groups in light clothing, its covering awnings, and its little children with their picturesque Indian ayahs.
A short way off sat Faith, smiling over her letter, and to her went
Lady Moreham, a soft expression upon her face that made it lovely.
"My dear," she said, as the girl looked up brightly, "is this yours?"
Faith glanced at the envelope, which the speaker did not offer to relinquish.
"Why, yes. Did I drop it? Oh, it blew away. Thank you for returning it."
As she spoke she rose, with instinctive courtesy, and offered her chair, bringing another from a little distance for herself. Lady Moreham accepted it with an absent manner, and, sinking into it, said quickly, with agitation in her tones,
"I must ask you a question or two, but not out of curiosity, believe me. Was this address written by some one you know—a friend?"
Faith smiled.
"Yes and no, my lady. We have met the one who wrote it—Hope and I—but neither of us can recall her name;" and thereupon she told something of her old nurse, and the coming of the new lodger, just before their departure on this journey.
Lady Moreham listened with breathless interest, her eyes intent upon the envelope, which she still held. As Faith touched lightly upon the appearance of the stranger, she said briefly.