Stanley sitting in the chaplain's room with folded hands.

"Lady Madge, will you go with me for a walk this beautiful morning?" I
asked.

"Gladly would I go, Sir Malcolm," she responded, a smile brightening her
face and quickly fading away, "but I--I cannot walk in unfamiliar places.
I should fail. You would have to lead me by the hand, and that, I fear,
would mar the pleasure of your walk."

"Indeed, it would not, Lady Madge. I should enjoy my walk all the more."

"If you really wish me to go, I shall be delighted," she responded, as the
brightness came again to her face. "I sometimes grow weary, and, I
confess, a little sad sitting alone when Dorothy cannot be with me. Aunt
Dorothy, now that she has her magnifying glasses,--spectacles, I think
they are called,--devotes all her time to reading, and dislikes to be
interrupted."

"I wish it very much," I said, surprised by the real eagerness of my
desire, and unconsciously endeavoring to keep out of the tones of my voice
a part of that eagerness.

"I shall take you at your word," she said. "I will go to my room to get my
hat and cloak."

She rose and began to grope her way toward the door, holding out her
white, expressive hands in front of her. It was pitiful and beautiful to
see her, and my emotions welled up in my throat till I could hardly speak.