pretty picture,--mamma put it up in the nursery. No, she is not like
that, not at all, much prettier; and then _my_ lady is sorry about
something,--except when she smiles at me. She has her hair put up like
this, and this," the child went on, twisting her own bright locks.

"Doctor, I can't bear any more."

"My dear, you are mistaken, it is all a delusion. She has seen a picture.
I think now, Mrs. Turner, that my little patient had better run away and
play. Take a good run through the woods, Miss Connie, with your brother,
and I will send you some physic which will not be at all nasty, and we
shall hear no more of your old lady. My dear Miss Vivian, if you will but
hear reason! I have known such cases a hundred times. The child has seen
a picture, and it has taken possession of her imagination. She is a
little below par, and she has a lively imagination; and she has learned
something from Prentiss, though probably she does not remember that. And
there it is! a few doses of quinine, and she will see visions no more."

"Doctor," cried Mary, "how can you speak so to me? You dare not look me
in the face. You know you dare not: as if you did not know as well as I
do! Oh, why does that child see her, and not me?"

"There it is," he said, with a broken laugh. "Could anything show better
that it is a mere delusion? Why, in the name of all that is reasonable,
should this stranger child see her, if it was anything, and not you?"

Mrs. Turner looked from one to another with wondering eyes. "You know
what it is?" she said. "Oh, you know what it is? Doctor, doctor, is it
because my Connie is so delicate? Is it a warning? Is it--"