It was not by words that they knew each other, but when their eyes met each felt that the other had passed some ordeal which made their souls akin.
The stranger to whom Miss Vernon had been so drawn, met her on the beach the next morning, and asked her to walk with her.
“I would like to tell you,” she said, “of my strange experience last night; perhaps these things are not new to you,” and she went on in a confiding tone at Miss Vernon's visible look of deep interest;—
“I was weeping, as you may have noticed, when your strange and lovely pupil came to me,—weeping for the loss of one to whom I was betrothed. No mortal save myself knew the name which he gave me on the day of our engagement. It was 'Pearl.' My own name is Edith Weston. Judge of my emotion and surprise, when that child-a total stranger-came and spake my name in his exact tones. I have had other tests of spirit presences as clear and as positive, but none that ever thrilled me like this. Do you wonder that I already love that child with a strange, deep yearning?”
“I do not. I have myself had proof through her that our dear departed linger around, and are cognizant of our sorrows as well as our joys.”
“Perhaps you too have loved.”
“Yes; but not like yourself. My mother's love is the only love I have known.”
“And you are an orphan like myself?”
“I am.”
“That is what drew us together. And may I know your name?”