this fortuitous resemblance. It was painful, but it was inevitable, and
he would get used to it in time. "Perhaps," he mused, "if I had never
had that adventure with the poor insane girl, I might not have looked
twice at Miss Denham when we met--and loved her. It was the poor little
queen who shaped my destiny, and I oughtn't to be ungrateful." He
determined to tell the story to Miss Ruth some time when a fitting
occasion offered.

It was only when the likeness flashed upon Lynde suddenly, as it had
done in the grove the previous day, that it now had the power to startle
him. At the present moment it did not even seriously annoy him. In an
idle, pensive way he noted the coincidence of the man leading the mule.
The man was Morton and the mule was Mary! Lynde smiled to himself at the
reflection that Mary would probably not accept the analogy with very
good grace if she knew about it. This carried him to Rivermouth; then he
thought of Cinderella's slipper, packed away in the old hair-trunk in
the closet, and how perfectly the slipper would fit one of those feet
which a floating fold of the waterproof that instant revealed to him--
and he was in Switzerland again.

"Miss Ruth," he said, looking up quickly and urging his mule as closely
behind hers as was practicable, "what are your plans to be when your
uncle comes?"

"When my uncle comes we shall have no plans--aunt Gertrude and I. Uncle
Denham always plans for everybody."

"I don't imagine he will plan for me," said Lynde gloomily. "I wish he
would, for I shall not know what to do with myself."