and him."

She spoke now with vehemence, and as she spoke glanced at the
portrait in the alcove. Quickly the eyes of Madeline Desperiers
followed hers. How had this stranger managed to discover what was so
securely hidden from the observation of ordinary eyes? She did not
even suspect the light which had illumined that dim recess, and made
it brighter to the gazer than the bright garden even.

"This is Foray," said Elizabeth, exposing now the token that would
instantly make all plain and equal between them. "I should have sent
it to you, Madam, when I wrote; but there was more to be done,--and
so I came. I am Elizabeth Montier. I am a soldier's daughter; so, he
said, are you."

The lady's answer was not at first by speech. She arose, swiftly as
light moves she moved, and brought her guest up to the window of the
shadowy room. Well she scanned the face of Elizabeth.

"Truth," she murmured. "It was you that wrote. You are Truth. You
speak it. Blessings on you! Blessings descend upon you from all the
saints and heroes who have moved and suffered here! Do you come from
him,--Stephen Cordier?"

How proudly and how tenderly she spoke that name! To hear her soothed
the heart of Elizabeth Montier,--soothed her, and made her strong.

"Is that his name?" she asked, pointing to the portrait. "We call
him Manuel." She paused a moment, but not for an answer. Before
Madeline could speak, she went on,--