on the foot of the open page,
with an air of resolution that seemed appropriate to her character. She
rose deliberately to her feet, as we came forward, and I saw that she
was short, though when seated I should have guessed her to be tall.

"Mrs. North," said the professor, "this is my friend Mr. Griggs, who
formerly knew Madame Patoff. I have hopes that she may recognize him.
Can we see her now?"

"If you will wait one moment," answered Mrs. North, "I will see whether
you may go in." Her voice was like herself, calm and gentle, but with a
ring of strength and determination in it that was very attractive. She
moved to the door opposite to the one by which we had entered, and
opened it cautiously; after looking in, she turned and beckoned to us
to advance. We went in, and she softly closed the door behind us.

I shall never forget the impression made upon me when I saw Madame
Patoff. She was tall, and, though she was much over fifty years of age,
her figure was erect and commanding, slight, but of good proportion;
whether by nature, or owing to her mental disease, it seemed as though
she had escaped the effects of time, and had she concealed her hair with
a veil she might easily have passed for a woman still young. Mary Carvel
had been beautiful, and was beautiful still in a matronly, old-fashioned
way; Hermione was beautiful after another and a smaller manner, slender
and delicate and lovely; but Madame Patoff belonged to a very different
category. She was on a grander scale, and in her dark eyes there was
room for deeper feeling than in the gentle looks of her sister and
niece. One could understand how in her youth she had braved the
opposition of father and mother and sisters, and had married the
brilliant Russian, and had followed him to the ends of the earth during
ten years, through peace and through war, till he died. One could
understand how some great trouble and despair, which would send a
duller, gentler soul to prayers and sad meditations, might have driven
this grand, passionate creature to the very defiance of all despair and
trouble, into the abyss of a self-sought death. I shuddered when I
remembered that I had seen this very woman suspended in mid-air, her
life depending on the slender strength of a wild cherry tree upon the
cliff side. I had seen her, and yet had not seen her; for the sudden
impression of that terrible moment bore little or no relation to the
calmer view of the present time.

Madam