"Well, and what happened then?"

"The lady was frightened--and that frightened me. I think," the
child repeated positively, "she's mad."

It occurred to Mr. Rayburn that the lady might be blind. He rose
at once to set the doubt at rest.

"Wait here," he said, "and I'll come back to you."

But Lucy clung to him with both hands; Lucy declared that she was
afraid to be by herself. They left the alcove together.

The new point of view at once revealed the stranger, leaning
against the trunk of a tree. She was dressed in the deep mourning
of a widow. The pallor of her face, the glassy stare in her eyes,
more than accounted for the child's terror--it excused the
alarming conclusion at which she had arrived.

"Go nearer to her," Lucy whispered.

They advanced a few steps. It was now easy to see that the lady
was young, and wasted by illness--but (arriving at a doubtful
conclusion perhaps under the present circumstances) apparently
possessed of rare personal attractions in happier days. As the
father and daughter advanced a little, she discovered them. After
some hesitation, she left the tree; approached with an evident
intention of speaking; and suddenly paused. A change to
astonishment and fear animated her vacant eyes. If it had not
been plain before, it was now beyond all doubt that she was not a