and sat down by her a young woman of very different appearance,—our friend, Miss Peckover. They were old acquaintances; but when we first saw them together it would have been difficult to imagine that they would ever sit and converse as at present, apparently in all friendliness. Strange to say, it was Clem who, during the past three years, had been the active one in seeking to obliterate disagreeable memories. The younger girl had never repelled her, but was long in overcoming the dread excited by Clem’s proximity. Even now she never looked straight into Miss Peckover’s face, as she did when speaking with others; there was reserve in her manner, reserve unmistakable, though clothed with her pleasant smile and amiable voice.
“I’ve got something to tell you, Jane,” Clem began, in a tone inaudible to those who were sitting near. “Something as’ll surprise you.”
“What is it, I wonder?”
“You must swear you won’t tell nobody.”
