the snowy hill under the overhanging bough of the sycamore. Was she
really pretty, or was it only the witchery of her surroundings? Now that
he was out of her presence the attraction had faded. He was still
smarting from the memory of that dancing figure.

"Well, it's a fine house," said the woman, "and it looks large for just
two people. I thank you for telling me."

The pathos of her words appealed to the generous chivalry of his nature.
He felt sorry for her and wondered if he might offer her money.

"I hope you found lodgings," he said.

"Yes, I've found a room near here--on Governor Street, I think they call
it."

"And you are not in want? You do not need any help?"

She shook her head while the rusty mourning veil shrouded her features.
"Not yet," she answered. "I'm not a beggar yet." Though her tone was not
well-bred, he realized that she was neither as uneducated nor as
degraded as he had at first believed.

"I am glad of that," he responded; and then lifting his hat again, he
hurried quickly away from her up the road beneath the few old linden
trees that were left of an avenue. Glancing back as he reached the
Capitol building, he saw her black figure moving cautiously over the
snow toward one of the gates of the Square.

"That was a nightmare," he thought, "and now for the pleasant dream.