wonderful--wonderful! If you can remember that, my child, you can
remember anything."

"I DON'T remember it auntie," I answered, not liking to deceive her.
"To tell you the truth, I simply guessed at it. But when and why was
I at Torquay? Please tell me. And did I go to Berry Pomeroy?" For I
stuck to my point, and meant to get it out of her.

Aunt Emma gazed at me fixedly.

"You went to Torquay, dear," she said in a very slow voice, "in the
spring of the same year your poor father was killed: that's more
than four years ago. The Willie Moores live at Torquay, and several
more of your cousins. You went to stop with Willie's wife, and you
stayed five weeks. I don't know whether you ever went over to Berry
Pomeroy. You may have, and you mayn't: it's within an easy driving
distance. Minnie Moore has often written to ask me whether you could
go there again; Minnie was always fond of you, and thinks you'd
remember her: but I've been afraid to allow you, for fear it should
recall sad scenes. She's about your own age, Minnie is; and she's a
daughter of Willie Moore, who's my own first cousin, and of course
your dear mother's."

I never hesitated a moment. I was strung up too tightly by that
time.

"Auntie dear," I said quietly, "I go to-morrow to Torquay. I must
know all now. I must hunt up these people."

Auntie knew from my tone it was no use trying to stand in my way any