For they fully believed--think of it!--fully and unquestionably believed that you were dead; more hopelessly dead than if you were in your grave, dead, with no possibility of resurrection." "This is the one," she said, presently, as she took up the picture of a woman of thirty-five, "who had the fortune left to her, which has come down to me.

I want you to like her.

Next to you I think more of her than I do of any of the rest.

It was she who cut loose from the old life at Hilton which had become so sour and sad, and built this new Hilton here, where life has been so much calmer, and, on the whole, happier, than it had got to be at home.

It was she who had the portrait of you painted which is downstairs." Ida took up a picture of the Miss Ludington of twenty-six or seven.
"Tell me something about her," she said.