By Berwen Banks

"How strange! so do I," said Gwladys; "white or something very light.

Shall we go down, dear? Would you like a bedroom to yourself, or shall

we sleep together?"

"Oh, let us sleep together!"

And with arms thrown over each other's shoulders, they descended the

broad staircase, just as Mrs. Power, in answer to William's summons,

was crossing the hall to the dining-room.

"Here we are, auntie, or here I am and here is she."

"Come along, then, my dears."

"Well, indeed, I never did," said William, when he entered the kitchen;

"no, I never, never did see such a likeness between two young leddies.

They are the same picture as each other! And missus says to me,

'William,' she says, 'this is Miss Gwladys's sister, her twin-sister,'

she says, 'Miss Valmai Powell.' And I couldn't say nothing, if you

believe me, with my eyes as big as saucers. Ach y fi! there's an odd

thing!"

In the drawing-room after dinner there were endless questions and

answers, each one seeming to find in the other's history a subject of

the deepest interest. Mrs. Besborough Power, especially, with her nose

in the air, sometimes looking over her spectacles, and sometimes under

them, sometimes through them, did not hesitate to question Valmai on

the minutest particulars of her life hitherto--questions which the

latter found it rather difficult to answer without referring to the

last eighteen months.

"H'm!" said Mrs. Power, for the twentieth time, "and ever since your

father's death you have been living with your uncle?"

"With my uncles, first one and then the other; and the last few months

with dear Nance, my old nurse."

"What! Nance Owen? Is she alive still?"

"Yes; she is, indeed."

"She must be very old now?"

"Yes, and frail; but as loving and tender as ever."

And so on, and so on, until bed-time; and the two girls were once more

together in their bedroom.

The maid, who was deeply interested in the strange visitor, lingered

about the toilet-table a little unnecessarily, until Gwladys, in a

voice which, though not unkind, showed she was more accustomed to

command than Valmai, said: "That will do, thank you, I will do my own hair to-night. My sister

and I wish to talk." And, having dismissed Maria, she drew two cosy

chairs round the wood fire.

"Come along, Valmai, now we can chat to our heart's content." And

soon, with feet on fender and hair unloosed, the sisters talked and

talked, as if making up for the long years of silence which had divided

them.

"And how happy that neither of us is married," said Gwladys. "We might

never have met then, dear."

"Possibly," said Valmai.

"And what a good thing we haven't the same lover to quarrel about."