in the meads besides us.'

Mrs. Lodge was by this time close to the door--not in her silk, as Rhoda
had seen her in the bed-chamber, but in a morning hat, and gown of common
light material, which became her better than silk. On her arm she
carried a basket.

The impression remaining from the night's experience was still strong.
Brook had almost expected to see the wrinkles, the scorn, and the cruelty
on her visitor's face.

She would have escaped an interview, had escape been possible. There
was, however, no backdoor to the cottage, and in an instant the boy had
lifted the latch to Mrs. Lodge's gentle knock.

'I see I have come to the right house,' said she, glancing at the lad,
and smiling. 'But I was not sure till you opened the door.'

The figure and action were those of the phantom; but her voice was so
indescribably sweet, her glance so winning, her smile so tender, so
unlike that of Rhoda's midnight visitant, that the latter could hardly
believe the evidence of her senses. She was truly glad that she had not
hidden away in sheer aversion, as she had been inclined to do. In her
basket Mrs. Lodge brought the pair of boots that she had promised to the
boy, and other useful articles.

At these proofs of a kindly feeling towards her and hers Rhoda's heart
reproached her bitterly. This innocent young thing should have her
blessing and not her curse. When she left them a light seemed gone from
the dwelling. Two days later she came again to know if the boots fitted;