ll me who lives here?'
The answer came with some hesitation:

'Sister Ruth.'

'And who is Sister Ruth?' The question came instinctively and without
premeditation. The maid, embarrassed, held hard to the half-open door
and shifted from foot to foot uneasily.

'I don't know!' she said at last. 'Only Sister Ruth, I suppose!' It was
manifest that the matter had never afforded her anything in the nature of
a problem. There was an embarrassing silence. Stephen did not wish to
seem, or even to be, prying; but her curiosity was aroused. What manner
of woman was this who lived so manifestly alone, and who had but a
Christian name! Stephen, however, had all her life been accustomed to
dominance, and at Normanstand and Norwood had made many acquaintances
amongst her poorer neighbours. She was just about to ask if she might
see Sister Ruth, when behind the maid in the dark of the low passage-way
appeared the tall, slim figure of a silver woman. Truly a silver woman!
The first flash of Stephen's thought was correct. White-haired, white-
faced, white-capped, white-kerchiefed; in a plain-cut dress of light-grey
silk, without adornment of any kind. The whole ensemble was as a piece
of old silver. The lines of her face were very dignified, very sweet,
very beautiful. Stephen felt at once that she was in the presence of no
common woman. She looked an admiration which all her Quaker garments
could not forbid the other to feel. She was not the first to speak; in
such a noble presence the dignity of Stephen's youth imperatively
demanded silence, if not humility. So she waited. The Silver Lady, for
so Stephen ever after held her in her mind, said quietly, but with
manifest welcome:

'Didst thou wish to see me? Wilt thou come in?' Stephen answered
frankly:

'I should like to come in; if you will not think me rude. The fact is, I
was struck when riding by with the beautiful situation of the mill. I
thought it was only an old mill till I saw the garden hedges; and I came
round to ask if I might go in.' The Silver Lady came forward at a pace
that by itself expressed warmth as she said heartily:

'Indeed thou mayest. Stay! it is tea-time. Let us put thy horse in one
of the sheds; there is no man here at present to do it. Then thou shalt
come with me and see my beautiful view!' She was about to take the horse
herself, but Stephen forestalled her with a quick: 'No, no! pray let me.
I am quite accustomed.' She led