that all of my previous life that I could remember had been spent at
Park Hill Seminary.

The Major was evidently puzzled by what I had told him. He mused for
several moments without speaking. Hitherto my face had been in
half-shadow, the candle having been placed behind the curtain that fell
round the head of the bed, so as not to dazzle my eyes. This candle the
Major now took, and held it about a yard above my head, so that its full
light fell on my upturned face. I was swathed in a blanket, and while
addressing the Major had raised myself on my elbow in bed. My long black
hair, still damp, fell wildly round my shoulders.

The moment Major Strickland's eyes rested on my face, on which the full
light of the candle was now shining, his ruddy cheek paled; he started
back in amazement, and was obliged to replace the candlestick on the
table.

"Great Heavens! what a marvellous resemblance!" he exclaimed. "It cannot
arise from accident merely. There must be a hidden link somewhere."

Then taking the candle for the second time, he scanned my face again
with eyes that seemed to pierce me through and through. "It is as if one
had come to me suddenly from the dead," I heard him say in a low voice.
Then with down-bent head and folded arms he took several turns across
the room.

"Sir, of whom do I remind you?" I timidly asked.

"Of someone, child, whom I knew when I was young--of someone who died
long years before you were born." There was a ring of pathos in his