"What is it like, Dawn?"

"Like a great Soul that has absorbed a million lives into its own, and cannot rest, it is so full of joy and sadness," and she fixed her gaze more intently on the foam-crested waves.

It was the first time she had seen the ocean, and her father's keen enjoyment watching her enraptured, wondering gaze, afforded Miss Vernon another source of pleasure, aside from the wide expanse of beauty, which stretched from shore to horizon.

The three, according to Mr. Wyman's promise, had come to enjoy the pleasures and beauties of the seaside for a few weeks, as well as to see the different phases of human character which were daily thronging there.

It was intensely interesting to Miss Vernon to watch the child's eager interest in this glorious display of nature, and her strange insight into the character of the people with whom they were in daily contact.

There was one faint, gentle girl, about twenty years of age, who walked every evening alone, and whom Miss Vernon watched with great interest.

"I like her, too," said Dawn, coming close to her teacher one evening, as she walked up and down on the beach.

"Who? and how do you know I like her."

"Why, the lady there, walking in front of us. I feel you like her."

"I am glad you do, Dawn. And now tell me why you love her."

"I love her because she is white."

"You mean that she is pure. I think she is."

"Yes. I mean that and something else."

"What?"

"In one of my lessons, you told me, that some objects were white, because they absorbed none of the rays, but reflected all."

"You must explain your singular application-or in plain words, tell me how she reflects all, and takes none."

"Why, because she don't take the life from people, but gives to them."

"You know just what I mean-she throws it back to themselves purified by her light." And the child's face was not her own, another's shone through it.

"Very good, Dawn, I hope we shall sometime know this pure young lady, and receive a brightness from her," said Miss Vernon, talking more to herself than the strange child who was dancing at that moment in time to the waves.

"According to your scientific symbol, I suppose we shall see some black people here before we go," she said laughingly to the child.

"Yes, there are plenty of those everywhere. They take all the light, and give none out. But see, Miss Vernon, the lady is sitting on a rock and weeping, may I go to her?"

"Would it not be an intrusion?"

"Yes, sometimes, but not now. May I go? Papa would let me, I think."

"You must ask him. I had rather not give you such a liberty."

"Then I will," and she flew at the top of her speed to the bank where he was sitting.

"May I go and see that lady out on the rock, papa?"

"Why? Do you know her?"

No, but I must go," and as she spoke Dawn's eyes had that strange look which betokened an inner vision.

"Yes, daughter, go," was his answer, and she bounded from his side, and was close to the weeping stranger, in an instant.

Her father watched her with the deepest interest, and almost wished himself within hearing.

She did not approach the stranger quietly, but with one bound sprang and threw her arms around her neck, saying in a voice deeper and stronger than her own:

"Pearl, I am here. Weep no more!"

The young girl thrilled, but not with terror, for to her such things were of frequent occurrence. Yet the proof to her now of the presence of the unseen was of such a positive nature, more tangible than she had felt for months, that all her accumulated doubts gave way, and the pure waters of faith flowed over her soul.

Here, among strangers, where none knew her name, or her grief, had the voice of her loved one spoken. Why should she doubt? Why should thousands, who have every day a similar experience?

She rose from her position, and taking the hand of the child, which thrilled strangely to her touch, walked towards the house.

"Do you love the sea?" she asked of the little stranger.

"O, ever so much. I mean to ask papa to live here forever," and she looked enthusiastically towards the receding waves.

"Do you live here?" asked Dawn.

"No; my home is far away. I come here to rest."

"Was that what made you weep? Was you weary?"

"Yes, dear. My soul is very weary at times."

"Is the sea weary when it moans?" and she looked wonderingly over the wide expanse of changing waves.

"I think it is; but I must leave you now; I see your friends are looking for you."

But Dawn would not let her pass on. She held her hand tighter, and said:

"This is my papa, and this is my teacher."

"I hope my child has not annoyed you, Miss," said Mr. Wyman, as he gazed on the face of the beautiful stranger before them.

"Far from it, sir. She has comforted me. Children, under ordinary circumstances, are ever welcome, but when they bring proof-"

She stopped, fearful that she might not be understood.

"I comprehend it, Miss. I saw another life than her own in her eyes, else I should not have permitted her to have gone to you."

"I thank you both," said the gentle girl, and bowing gracefully, she went towards the house.

"Is she not white, Miss Vernon?" asked Dawn, exultingly, when the stranger was out of hearing.

Yes, she is beautiful and pure."

"I hope she was comforted, for her face has a look of sorrow, deeper than we often see on one so young," remarked Mr. Wyman, who had been enlightened by Miss Vernon on Dawn's strange application of soul-science.

"Yes, she was, papa. Some one in the air made me speak and call her name. It's 'Pearl'; is n't it pretty? O, see those clouds, papa," she cried, with thrilling ecstasy; "I hope they will look just like that when I die."

"You are weary now, darling; we must go in," said her father, watching with jealous eyes the snow-white and crimson clouds which lay on the horizon, just above the foaming waves.

"There are some people here from L--," said Miss Vernon, as she and Mr. Wyman sat together on the piazza the next morning, watching the changing sea.

"Ah, who are they; any of our friends?"

"I have never seen them at your house. Two ladies,--a Mrs. Foster and sister. Do you know them?"

"I know that there are such people in L--. When did they arrive? I have not seen them."

"Last evening; but you do not look particularly pleased. Will they disturb you?"

"I do not mean they shall, although they are busybodies, and know every one's affairs better than their own."

"So I judged by their conversation last evening, which I could not but overhear, as they talked so loud, their room being next to mine, and their door open."

"Of whom were they speaking?"

"Of a Mr. and Mrs. Deane. I think I have heard you allude to them."

"I have; nice good people too. As usual, I suppose they were charging them with all sorts of foibles and misdemeanors."

"I heard one of them assert that Mr. and Mrs. Deane had parted, and that she had gone to live with her parents."

"It cannot be! Howard Deane is too just and honorable for anything of that nature; but if they have, there are good reasons for it. I think I will write him this very morning, and urge him to come and bring his wife to this beautiful spot for a few days. Will you lend me your folio, Florence? Mine is up two flights of stairs, and I would really like to be waited on this morning."

She flew to her room, and returned and placed it before him, and then went in search of Dawn.

Selecting a delicate sheet from its orderly arranged contents he commenced,--

"My Dear Friend Howard.

"Come and spend a few days in this loveliest of--"

At this point a strong hand was laid on his shoulder, and another placed over his eyes.

"I am here;" said a well-known voice, "so throw aside pen and paper. We will commence in a better way."

"Why? when? where did you come from, and how came you to select this place?"

"I came this morning; arrived ten minutes ago from L--. Did not 'select' this place; the place drew me here. Now I have answered all your interrogatories, may I ask you how long you have been here, and why you did not let me know you were coming?&qu............