When you told me about your home it was like something that I had often seen before.

I shall be dreaming about it next!" Beverley cross-questioned her from every possible point of view; he was fascinated with the mystery; but she gave him nothing out of which the least further light could be drawn.

A half-breed woman, it seemed, had been her Indian foster-mother; a silent, grave, watchful guardian from whom not a hint of disclosure ever fell.

She was, moreover, a Christian woman, had received her conversion from an English-speaking Protestant missionary.

She prayed with Alice, thus keeping in the child's mind a perfect memory of the Lord's prayer.
"Well," said Beverley at last, "you are more of a mystery to me, the longer I know you." "Then I must grow every day more distasteful to you." "No, I love mystery." He went away feeling a new web of interest binding him to this inscrutable maiden whose life seemed to him at once so full of idyllic happiness and so enshrouded in tantalizing doubt.