I love him dearly." "And don't you remember anything at all about when, where, how the Indians got you ?" "No." She shook her head and seemed to be trying to recollect something.

"No, I just can't remember; and yet there has always been something like a dream in my mind, which I could not quite get hold of.
I know that I am not a Catholic.

I vaguely remember a sweet woman who taught me to pray like this: 'Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.'" And Alice went on through the beautiful and perfect prayer, which she repeated in English with infinite sweetness and solemnity, her eyes uplifted, her hands clasped before her.

Beverley could have sworn that she was a shining saint, and that he saw an aureole.
"I know," she continued, "that sometime, somewhere, to a very dear person I promised that I never, never, never would pray any prayer but that.

And I remember almost nothing else about that other life, which is far off back yonder in the past, I don't know where,--sweet, peaceful, shadowy; a dream that I have all but lost from my mind." Beverley's sympathy was deeply moved.