laughed at," said a voice from within. The sound of the voices roused
the young spectator. She looked with a little curiosity, mixed with
anxiety, at the lady who had come out of the house, and who started, too,
with a gesture of alarm, when she saw Mary move in the dark. "Who are
you?" she cried out in a trembling voice, "and what do you want here?"

Then Mary made a step or two forward and said, "I must ask your pardon if
I am trespassing. I did not know there was any objection--" This stranger
to make an objection! It brought something like a tremulous laugh to
Mary's lips.

"Oh, there is no objection," said the lady, "only we have been a little
put out. I see now; you are the young lady who--you are the young lady
that--you are the one that--suffered most."

"I am Lady Mary's goddaughter," said the girl. "I have lived here all my
life."

"Oh, my dear, I have heard all about you," the lady cried. The people who
had taken the house were merely rich people; they had no other
characteristic; and in the vicarage, as well as in the other houses
about, it was said, when they were spoken of, that it was a good thing
they were not people to be visited, since nobody could have had the heart
to visit strangers in Lady Mary's house. And Mary could not but feel a
keen resentment to think that her story, such as it was, the story which
she had only now heard in her own person, should be discussed by such
people. But the speaker had a look of kindness, and, so far as could be
seen, of perplexity and fretted anxiety in her face, and had been in a
hurry, but stopped herself in order to show her interest. "I wonder," she
said impulsively, "that you can come here and look at the place again,