"Sir?" said the Lady of Shalott.

"Where is the pain?" asked the doctor, gently, with his finger on the
Lady of Shalott's pulse.

The Lady of Shalott touched the shoulder of her brown calico night-dress,
smiling.

"And what did you see in your glass?" asked the doctor, once more
stooping to examine "the pain."

The Lady of Shalott tried to tell him, but felt confused; so many
strange things had been in the glass since it grew hot. So she only said
that there were waves and a purple wing, and that they were broken now,
and lay upon the floor.

"Purple wings?" asked the doctor.

"Over the sidewalk," nodded the Lady of Shalott. "It comes up at night."

"Oh!" said the doctor, "the malaria. No wonder!"

"And what about the waves?" asked the doctor, talking while he touched
and tried the little brown calico shoulders. "I have a little girl of my
own down by the waves this summer. She--I suppose she is no older than
you!"

"I am seventeen, sir," said the Lady of Shalott. "Do they have green
faces and white hair? Does she see them run up and down? I never saw any
waves, sir, but those in my glass. I am very glad to know that your