It was the 11th of February, warm and bright, in that delightful climate of California. In the handsome residence of Mrs. Morse, on California street, reclining in a large arm-chair, sat Marie Colchis. A book lay upon the floor, where it had fallen from her hand, and she lay among the cushions with a far-away, dreamy expression in her eyes. Nearly five weeks had elapsed since she left the Island of Guadalupe and came with her two friends to San Francisco.

Care and attention and the best of nursing had saved the girl from the fever which first threatened to make her recovery slow and uncertain. She had regained her health, her flesh and beauty; her skin was exceeding fair, but the whiteness was set off by the rich red of her cheeks and lips.

Recovered from death, among friends who loved her, and expecting every moment the arrival of the one of all men whom she had ever loved, whom she adored now, she lay dreaming of the time when she should be clasped in his arms.

Marie had been informed of everything concerning Junius Cobb. She knew of his apparent infatuation with Mollie, and of his subsequent disinclination for the society of either her or Marie Hathaway. Mollie had told her of the time when he had called her by name in such words of love and endearment, and Marie believed that his heart was hers yet. She was informed of his journey to the pole, of his safe arrival there, and knew that he was expected in San Francisco at any moment.

“Oh that the time would soon come!” she had cried in her heart many times. “Will he know me? Will he still love me?” she had asked herself; “and then, if not, I shall die!” she would murmur sadly, while the beautiful eyes would fill with tears.

“They are coming, Marie! They are coming!” screamed Mollie, rushing into the room. “They are at the door!”

Marie started from her chair, gasped, and pressed her hand to her heart. He was at the door! he whom she loved, and from whom she had been separated for over a hundred years!

“Remember, Marie, your promise; you are Leona Bennett;” and with this parting instruction, Mollie shot to the door just in time to be clasped in the arms of Lester Hathaway, who was leading the way for Cobb. Hugh had stopped in the hall, hugging the plump little form of Marie Hathaway.

A moment later Mollie led Cobb toward Marie, who was standing by the window at the side of the room.

“Leona, this is our friend, Mr. Cobb, of whom you have heard us speak. Junius, my cousin, Leona Bennett.”

Mollie smiled slyly, and gave Marie a knowing look.

Cobb bowed low, and then, looking up, hesitated as if lost in admiration of the beautiful face before him. Ere a word could be spoken by either, Lester and Hugh were brought forward and presented.

“You must have thought me rude, Miss Bennett,” said Cobb, a little later, as he and Marie sat near each other, “not to have expressed the pleasure which I could not but feel at meeting one so beautiful as yourself.”

“I, equally, was unable to more than acknowledge the introduction; for you know the others were upon us, and we had no time,” and she smiled charmingly upon him, while her eyes seemed to have a longing, craving expression. “You have had a most remarkable experience in life, Mr. Cobb,” she added, after a pause.

“Yes,” sadly. “And many times I have wished my fate had ordained it otherwise; but now, Miss Bennett, it would be ungallant, and,” with a searching look, “untrue, to say that I do, for I have met you.”

“Ah, you are like all men, ever ready with a compliment.”

“But it seems as if I was drawn to you by some power I cannot express,” he continued, looking deep into her eyes.

“Do I remind you of some old friend, some old love?” she banteringly asked, though it was easy to perceive that she longed for an affirmative reply.

“That is just what puzzles me, Miss Bennett. It seems as if your face was familiar, and yet I could never have met you before.”

“Are you sure?” She looked up with one of those expressions of childhood days when she had clung to him and begged him to come again to her in Duke’s Lane.

His eyes scanned her; his thoughts traveled back many years. “How like Marie Colchis was that expression,” he said to himself; yet he gave no utterance to his thoughts.

“She was dead, dead long years ago!” Then, aloud, he slowly said: “Yes; I am sure.”

“Then, how can you account for the power of attraction which draws you to me?” she persisted.

“I know not its cause,” he smilingly returned, “unless it be that perhaps all men are similarly attracted. I am but mortal, Miss Bennett, and consequently cannot resist the loadstone of so much grace and loveliness.”

Thus they met, and thus they talked. He knew her not, nor did she reveal her identity. She wished to test the man she loved; and why? Ask a woman!

Two weeks passed, and still they all remained in San Francisco; but the next day was to see them on their way to Washington; the President had sent an imperative summons for all to join him at once.

Junius Cobb had seen Marie every one of these days; had walked and driven and been her escort everywhere. In fact, he had been by her side during every moment that propriety would allow. A new life seemed opened to him; he laughed and chatted like the gayest; he was witty and bright, and the old expression of sorrow had vanished from his face.

He seemed to live in her smiles, to be supremely happy in her presence. He was in love; this time he knew it. Did he ever think of little Marie Colchis? Yes, often and often, and the divinity he now worshiped seemed to him as if risen from the soul of her, and that in loving the former he still maintained his allegiance to the latter. Leona, to him, was his old love Marie. He could not explain the semblance, yet he saw that it existed. He loved Leona Bennett; he thought of Marie Colchis.

Sitting by her side that evening, in the small, cozy library, whither he had gently led her, and whither she had gladly, willingly gone, he quietly said, “Miss Bennett, you return to Washington to-morrow?”

Turning her large blue eyes upon him, she asked, “And do you not go, too, Mr. Cobb?”

“It all depends,” he answered, nervously.

“Why, I thought it was all settled. Mollie told me that you were to go. Have you changed your mind, Mr. Cobb?”

“I dislike to return to Washington,” he continued, not heeding her question, “unless I can do so with a lighter heart than I took away with me when I left.”

“You ought to go there with the greatest pleasure. Your name is famous throughout the world,” and she looked proudly upon him; proud of the man she loved.

“But fame is not all that man craves,” he returned.

“What more can man desire than a name great to the world; a name honored, respected and loved?” Her eyes had dropped, while his were fastened upon her with love intense.

“Love.” He whispered the word lowly and sweetly in her ear as he bent over her drooping form.

Raising her eyes, now full of all that deep love of her aching, patient heart, she met his ardent gaze.

“And can you not have that?” she asked, in tones so low as to be almost inaudible.

“Miss Bennett,” he sadly returned, “mine is a peculiar position. Listen but a moment, and let me tell you my history.”

Junius Cobb then narrated his meeting with Marie Colchis; how he had loved her, but as a child; how he had promised to be her husband, and how he had forsaken her to gratify his ambition. He told her how this love of his little Marie had come to him in all its intensity since his return to life, yet he knew that she was lost to him forever. He informed her of his supposed love for Mollie Craft, and of his sudden discovery that his heart could never be given to her. He related the vision he had wherein Marie had been led to him by an angel. And during all this recital his listener had sat, with tears in her eyes, but a holy feeling of adoration for the man who had remembered her with such love. It was only by a supreme effort that she refrained from declaring herself and falling into the arms of this noble man.

“Miss Bennett—Leona,” gently and slowly; “since my eyes have beheld you, I have seen but one form, have known but one name—Marie Colchis. Yours is the face, the voice, the grace and loveliness that would have been hers at your age. It seems that in your form reposes her soul; that through your eyes beams her sweet and loving nature. Never could two beings be more alike.”

As he spoke the words, Marie’s overflowing heart gave vent to its fullness in a deep sob.

“I know, Leona,” proceeded Cobb, as he noticed her agitation, “that you feel sad at the recital of my story; your great heart—her heart—responds in sympathy to the sufferings of others. I feel that the vision of her coming has been realized; that though departed from this earth and among the angels in heaven, she has sent her soul, her form, her mortal being, back again to earth that I might meet my just reward—life or death. Marie Colchis—for by that name are you henceforth in my heart—I love you, I adore you. Is it to be life or death?”

Amid the sobs which came from her heart, she asked: “And will I always be Marie Colchis to you, Junius? Will you always bear me the love you profess for that other?”

“Yes; a thousand times yes,” he cried, as he arose and took her hand in his. “As my life, will I love you; as my life do I now adore you. O Marie, my darling, my own. Will you give me life? Can you love me in return, for her sake?” pleadingly, as he gently turned the beautiful face toward him and looked into her tear-bedimmed eyes.

Her heart was overflowing; the flood-gates of her love, so long closed and barred, were about to break asunder; her soul had passed out into his keeping. With a passionate cry, she threw her arms about him, and wept tears of joy. Gently he drew her closer to him, and kissed her lips; kissed away the tear-drops in her eyes.

“You love me, my own, my darling!” he cried. “Tell me that you do.”

“O Junius; as I love my God!” Again the tears of joy and happiness flowed fast and furious from her eyes.

“And you reproach me not that I see in you my former love?”

“No. No more is my name Leona Bennett. To you, my own, my noble heart, it shall ever be Marie Colchis. By that name alone shall you henceforth know me, love me, and be my husband.” Thus she spoke the truth, yet kept the promise she had made.