"God."

It was a reverent low note, but it rang clear.

What could have put those strange ideas in her head? This question kept
running in my mind during two or three days. It was inevitable that I
should think of madness. What other way was there to account for such
things? Grieving and brooding over the woes of France had weakened that
strong mind, and filled it with fantastic phantoms--yes, that must be it.

But I watched her, and tested her, and it was not so. Her eye was clear
and sane, her ways were natural, her speech direct and to the point. No,
there was nothing the matter with her mind; it was still the soundest in
the village and the best. She went on thinking for others, planning for
others, sacrificing herself for others, just as always before. She went
on ministering to her sick and to her poor, and still stood ready to give
the wayfarer her bed and content herself with the floor. There was a
secret somewhere, but madness was not the key to it. This was plain.

Now the key did presently come into my hands, and the way that it
happened was this. You have heard all the world talk of this matter which
I am about to speak of, but you have not heard an eyewitness talk of it
before.

I was coming from over the ridge, one day--it was the 15th of May,
'28--and when I got to the edge of the oak forest and was about to step
out of it upon the turfy open space in which the haunted beech tree
stood, I happened to cast a glance from cover, first--then I took a step
backward, and stood in the shelter and concealment of the foliage. For I
had caught sight of Joan, and thought I would devise some sort of playful