She started, put the letter into my hand, and quite lost the look that had drawn my notice.

“Priscilla,” I inquired, “did you ever see Miss Margaret Fuller?”

“No,” she answered.

“Because,” said I, “you reminded me of her just now, — and it happens, strangely enough, that this very letter is from her.”

Priscilla, for whatever reason, looked very much discomposed.

“I wish people would not fancy such odd things in me!” she said rather petulantly. “How could I possibly make myself resemble this lady merely by holding her letter in my hand?”

“Certainly, Priscilla, it would puzzle me to explain it,”