the forefront, where things are stirring and history is to be
manufactured, are found the small and the frail, such as Matthew S.
Whittaker, who, in addition to the battles of progress, have to
contend personally against constitutional delicacy, nervous
depression, and disease.

Miss Cheyne kept silence for a few moments, and, during the pause,
turned at the sound of horses' feet on the gravel below the windows.
She seemed to have been expecting an arrival, and Whittaker noticed
a sudden brightening of the eyes, an almost imperceptible movement
of the shoulders, as if Miss Cheyne was drawing herself up. The
American quickly reflected that the somewhat elaborate "toilette"
was unusual, and connected it with the expected visitor. He was not
surprised when, with a polite assurance that he had only to ask for
anything he might require, she turned and left him.

Whittaker now remembered having been told by the voluble driver of
the diligencia the history of a certain English Senorita who, having
inherited property from a forgotten uncle, had come to live in her
"possession" on the mountain side. He further recollected that the
house had been pointed out to him--a long, low dwelling of the dull
red stone quarried in this part of Catalonia. Being of an observant
habit, he remembered that the house was overgrown by a huge
wisteria, and faced eastward. He turned his head painfully, and now
saw that his windows were surrounded by mauve fronds of wisteria.
His room was, therefore, situated in the front of the house. There
was, he recollected, a verandah below his windows, and he wondered
whether Miss Cheyne received her visitors there in the cool of the
afternoon. He listened half-sleepily, and heard the horse depart,
led away by a servant. There followed the murmur of a conversation,