He held the locket open in his hands for several minutes, wondering who she could be, and what possible connection she could have held with the dead.

Something about that face smiling up into his own held peculiar fascination for him, gripping him with a strange feeling of familiarity, touching some dim memory which failed to respond.

Surely he had never seen the original, for she was not one to be easily forgotten, and yet eyes, hair, expression, combined to remind him of some one whom he had seen but could not bring definitely to mind.

There were no names on the locket, no marks of identification of any kind, yet realizing the sacredness of it, Keith slipped the fragile gold chain about his neck, and securely hid the trinket beneath his shirt.
It was noon by this time, the sun high overhead, and his horse, with dangling rein, still nibbling daintily at the short grass.

There was no reason for his lingering longer.