I ran the risk of offending her, by bluntly expressing the thought which was then in my mind.
"Is it possible that you are Cristel Toller ?" I said.
The question seemed to amuse her.

"Why shouldn't I be Cristel Toller ?" she asked.
"You were a little girl," I explained, "when I saw you last.

You are so altered now--and so improved--that I should never have guessed you might be the daughter of Giles Toller of the mill, if I had not seen you opening the cottage door." She acknowledged my compliment by a curtsey, which reminded me again of the village school.

"Thank you, young man," she said smartly; "I wonder who you are ?" "Try if you can recollect me," I suggested.
"May I take a long look at you ?" "As long as you like." She studied my face, with a mental effort to remember me, which gathered her pretty eyebrows together quaintly in a frown.
"There's something in his eyes," she remarked, not speaking to me but to herself, "which doesn't seem to be quite strange.

But I don't know his voice, and I don't know his beard." She considered a little, and addressed herself directly to me once more.