I am called Alice Roussillon, but
I suppose that my name is Alice Tarleton; it is not certain,
however. There is very little to help out the theory. Here is all
the proof there is. I don't know that it is worth anything."
She took off her locket and handed it to him.
He handled it rather indifferently, for he was just then studying
the fine lines of her face. But in a moment he was interested.
"Tarleton, Tarleton," he repeated. Then he turned the little disc
of gold over and saw the enameled drawing on the back,--a crest
clearly outlined.
He started. The crest was quite familiar.
"Where did you get this?" he demanded in English, and with such
blunt suddenness that she was startled. "Where did it come from?"
"I have always had it."
"Always? It's the Tarleton crest. Do you belong to that family?"
"Indeed I do not know. Papa Roussillon says he thinks I do."
"Well, this is strange and interesting," said Beverley, rather to
himself than addressing her. He looked from the miniature to the
crest and back to the miniature again, then at Alice. "I tell you
this is strange," he repeated with emphasis. "It is exceedingly
strange."
Her cheeks flushed quickly under their soft brown and her eyes
flashed with excitement.
"Yes, I know." Her voice fluttered; her hands were clasped in her
lap. She leaned toward him eagerly.
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