“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.”