Sibyl's
mother, even--a month before she died--told me that Myra's history, before
she came to them, was as unknown to her as it was the day she stopped at
their door."
"I can't get over the feeling that I ought to know her--that I have seen
her somewhere, years ago," said the novelist, by way of explaining his
interest.
"Then it was before she got those scars," returned the Ranger. "No one
could ever forget her face as it is now."
"At the same time," commented the artist, "the scars would prevent your
identifying her if she received them after you had known her."
"All the same," said Conrad Lagrange,--as though his mind was bothered by
his inability to establish some incident in his memory,--"I'll place her
yet. Do you mind, Brian, telling us what you _do_ know of her?"
"Why, not at all," returned the officer. "The story is anybody's property.
Its being so well known is probably the reason you didn't hear it when you
were up here before.
"Sibyl's father and mother were here in the mountains when I came. They
lived up there at the old place where Myra and Sibyl are camping now, and
I never expect to meet finer people--either in this world or the next. For
twenty years I knew them intimately.
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