seemed to examine with great interest as she stood a long time
motionless before it. Then she began to pace slowly around and around
the little grass plot, her hands hanging loosely clasped before her, and
her eyes fixed on vacancy as if absorbed in thought. But as the first
effect of her beauty passed away, Lillian found something peculiar about
her. It was not the somewhat foreign dress and ornaments she wore; it
was in her face, her movements, and the tone of her voice, for as she
walked she sang a low, monotonous song, as if unconsciously. Lillian
watched her keenly, marking the aimless motions of the little hands, the
apathy of the lovely face, and the mirthless accent of the voice; but
most of all the vacant fixture of the great dark eyes. Around and around
she went, with an elastic step and a mechanical regularity wearisome to
witness.

What is the matter with her? thought Lillian anxiously, as this painful
impression increased with every scrutiny of the unconscious girl. So
abashed was she that Hester's call was unheard, and Hester was unseen as
she came and stood beside her. Both looked a moment, and as they looked
an old lady came from the house and led Helen in, still murmuring her
monotonous song and moving her hands as if to catch and hold the
sunshine.

"Poor dear, poor dear. No wonder Paul turns sad and won't talk of her,
and that she don't see anyone," sighed Hester pitifully.

"What is it? I see, but don't understand," whispered Lillian.

"She's an innocent, deary, an idiot, though that's a hard word for a
pretty creature like her."