"I know who you are!" said the stranger. "You are Mignonette."
"Who told you so?" said Faith, drawing back from her to look.
"Some one who knew!"—the face was lovely in its April of mischief and tears.
Faith's face grew very grave, with doubt, and bewilderment, and growing certainty, and drew yet further off. Rosy blushes, more and more witchingly shy, chased in and out of her cheeks; till obeying the certainty which yet was vague, Faith's head stooped and her two hands covered her face. She was drawn back into the stranger's arms, and her hands and face (what there could) were covered with kisses.
"Faith, is it strange your sister should know?—and why don't you let me have the rest of your face to kiss?—I haven't half seen it yet. And I'm sure Endy would not like to have his message delivered in these out of the way places."
Even as she spoke, the hands quitted the face, veiled only by the rosiest consciousness; and laying both hands on the stranger Faith gave her warm kisses—on cheeks and lips; and then looked at her, with eyes alternately eager and shy, that rose and fell at every new stir of feeling.
"How did you come here?"—she said with a sort of soft breathlessness. The eyes that looked at her were as intent, a little laughing, a little moved.
"How did I come here?—Faith, I knew you at the first glance,—how came you not to know me?"
"I—could not!" said Faith. "How came you here?"
"Here? in Pattaquasset—how I love the name! Faith, I shall expect you to take me to every place where Endecott set his foot when he was here."