By Berwen Banks

In the spacious, handsomely-furnished drawing-room of a large

country-house, two ladies sat on a quiet evening in autumn. The large

bay window looked out over extensive grounds to the blue hills beyond.

In the pale evening sky the crescent moon hung like a silver boat, the

trees in the quiet air looked black as if drawn in ink. In the grate a

large wood fire crackled, which the elder lady seemed much to enjoy as

she rubbed her hands one over another on her knee, and spoke in a low,

purring tone. The younger occupant of the room was a girl about twenty

years of age; she was fair and fragile-looking compared with her portly

companion, who was rather florid in complexion.

"Put your work away, my dear," said the elder lady; "it is getting too

dark for you to see."

"This is the last petal, auntie," said the girl, still bending her head

with its wealth of golden hair over her work. At last with a satisfied

"There!" she laid it on the table and turned towards the bay window,

through which might be seen a fair view of the park, with its

undulating knolls and clumps of trees, between which wound in flowing

curves the well-kept drive leading to the high road.

"You had better ring for the lights, Gwladys," said the elder lady, as

she settled herself to what she called "five minutes' snooze," a

slumber which generally lasted till dinner-time.

"There is a carriage coming down the drive; what can it be, auntie?"

But auntie was already in dreamland, and Gwladys stood still at the

window watching with curiosity the vehicle which drew nearer and nearer.

"The fly from the Red Dragon at Monmouth! who can it be?" and her blue

eyes opened wide as she saw alighting from it a girl in a quiet black

travelling dress. "She's young and has golden hair like mine--a

dressmaker, probably, for one of the servants, but she would scarcely

come to the front door."

Before she had time to conjecture further, the door was opened by a

servant man, who seemed rather flustered as the visitor entered

quickly, unannounced. She had merely asked him, "Miss Gwladys Powell

lives here?" and, receiving an answer in the affirmative, had walked

into the hall and followed the puzzled man to the drawing-room door.

As she entered the room in the dim twilight, Gwladys stood still with

astonishment, while William so far forgot himself as to stand

open-mouthed with his hand on the door-handle, until Gwladys said, "The

lamps, William," when he disappeared suddenly.

The visitor stood for one moment frightened and doubtful.

"I am Valmai," she said, approaching Gwladys with her hands extended.

"Valmai?" said Gwladys, taking both the offered hands. "I don't know

the name--but--surely, surely, we are sisters! You are my twin-sister.

Oh, I have heard the old story, and have longed for and dreamt of this

meeting all my life," and in a moment the two girls were clasped to

each other's hearts.