He looked at her for a moment without speaking.

It was really but a moment, yet, as he looked, he lay in a heavily-testered bed--he heard the beating of the sea upon the shore--he saw the sage Mentor, the ghostly Calypso putting aside the curtain--for a moment he was once more the little school-boy, bruised and ill at Pinewood; but this face--no longer a girl's face--no longer anxious, but sweet, serene, and tender--was this the half-haughty face he had seen and worshipped in the old village church--the face whose eyes of sympathy, but not of love, had filled his heart with such exquisite pain?
"That young man, Miss Wayne, is Edward Wynne," he said, in reply to the question.
It did not seem to resolve her perplexity.
"I don't recall the name," she answered.

"I think he must remind me of some one I have known." "He is as black as Abel Newt," said Gabriel, looking with his clear eyes at Hope Wayne.
"But much handsomer than Mr.Newt now is," she answered, with perfect unconcern.

"His eyes are softer; and, in fact," she said, smiling pleasantly, "I am not surprised to see what a willing listener his neighbor is.

I wish I could recall him.