bird-of-paradise bonnet, from which swept an ample veil of black lace.
She sat bolt upright in the carriage, her stick firmly planted in front
of her, her hands crossed on its crutch handle, and her whole air was
one of uncompromising energy.

"Shall I knock?" said Anthony, glancing up at the blind house-front with
an expression which said plainly enough "It won't be any use."

"No, I'm going to get out. Here, help me! the other side, ninnyhammer!
You have helped me out on the wrong side for forty years, Anthony
Barker; I must be a saint after all, or I never should have stood it."

The old lady mounted the granite steps briskly, and knocked smartly on
the door with the top of her stick. After some delay it was opened by a
grim-looking elderly woman with a forbidding squint.

"How do you do, Keziah? I am coming in. You may wait for me, Anthony."

"I don't know as Miss Dane feels up to seein' company, Mis' Tree," said
the grim woman, doubtfully, holding the door in her hand.

"Folderol!" said Mrs. Tree, waving her aside with her stick. "She's in
her sitting-room, I suppose. To be sure! How are you, Virginia?"

The room Mrs. Tree entered was gaunt and gray like the house itself;
high-studded, with blank walls of gray paint, and wintry gleams of
marble on chimneypiece and furniture. Gaunt and gray, too, was the
figure seated in the rigid high-backed chair, a tall old woman in a
black gown and a close muslin cap like that worn by the Shakers, with a
black ribbon bound round her forehead. Her high features showed where
great beauty, of a masterful kind, had once dwelt; her sunken eyes were
cold and dim as a steel mirror that has lain long buried and has
forgotten how to give back the light.

These eyes now dwelt upon Mrs. Tree, with recognition, but no warmth or
kindliness in their depths.

"How are you, Virginia?" repeated the visitor. "Come, shake hands! you
are alive, you know, after a fashion; where's the use of pretending you
are not?"

Miss Dane extended a long, cold, transparent hand, and then motioned to
a seat.

"I am well, Marcia," she said, coldly. "I have been well for the past
fifteen years, since we last met."

"I made the last visit, I remember," said Mrs. Tree, composedly, hooking
a gray horsehair footstool toward her with her stick, and settling her
feet on it. "You gave me to understand then that I need not come again
till I had something special to say, so I have stayed away."

"I have no d