"I think it is coming soon," said Undine, softly. "I keep having dreams. I dreamt of my mother last night."
There was a quiver in the girl's voice, and Miss Jessie leaned forward and laid a kind hand on her shoulder.
"Tell me about it, dear," she said, gently.
Undine drew a deep breath that was almost a sob.
"It was a beautiful dream," she said. "My mother and I were in a dear little room, all furnished in pink and white. I don't know where it was, but it seemed quite familiar in the dream. I was unhappy about something, and my mother kissed me, and put her arms round me. She had such a dear, beautiful face. Oh, Miss Jessie, do you suppose my poor mother was killed in that dreadful earthquake?"
"My dear little girl, we cannot possibly know that; we must have patience. Have you had other dreams?"
"Yes. The other night I dreamt I was playing with a boy in a swamp. There was a black woman in the dream, too; she scolded us, but I wasn't a bit afraid of her. Do you think perhaps they were people I used to know?"
"I don't know, dear; it may be possible, but you mustn't let these things worry you. You are happy here with us, are you not?"
"Happy!" cried the girl, with sparkling eyes, "I never expected to be so happy anywhere. As long as I live I shall never forget all you and Mr. and Mrs. Graham have done for me, but I can't help wanting to remember."
"Of course you can't; that is quite natural. We all want you to remember, too, but we must have patience. The more you strain your brain, the longer it may take for the memory to come back. You have been a great comfort to us since Marjorie went away; I told her so in my last letter."