hen
said, 'If you come through the gate and turn sharp to the right, you can
go out across the apple orchard by taking down a single set of bars,
only you'll have to lead your horse, sir, for the trees are set thick
and are heavy laden. I'd let you cross the bit of grass to the drive by
the back gate yonder but that it would grieve Mrs. Marchant to see the
turf so much as pressed with a wheel; she'd feel and know it somehow,
even if she didn't see it.'

"'Mrs. Marchant! Not Mrs. Chester Marchant?' cried Martin, while the
far-away echo of something recalled by the name troubled the ears of my
memory.

"'Yes, sir, the very same! Did you know Dr. Marchant, sir? The minute I
laid eyes on you two I thought you were of her kind!' replied the woman,
pointing backward over her shoulder and settling herself against the
shaft and side of Brown Tom, the horse, as if expecting and making ready
for a comfortable chat.

"As she stood thus I could take a full look at her without
intrusiveness. Apparently well over sixty years old, and her face lines
telling of many troubles, yet she had not a gray hair in her head and
her poise was of an independent landowner rather than an occupier of
another's home. I also saw at a glance that whatever her present
position might be, she had not been born in service, but was probably a
native of local importance, who, for some reason perfectly satisfactory
to herself, was 'accommodating.'

"'Dr. Marchant, Dr. Russell, and I were college mates,' said Martin,
briefly, 'and after he and his son died so suddenly I was told that his
widow was mentally ill and that none could see her, and later that she
had died, or else the wording was so that I inferred as much,' and the
very recollection seemed to set Martin dreaming. And I did not wonder,
for there had never been a more brilliant and devoted couple than Abbie
and Chester Marchant, and I still remember the shock of it when word
came that both father and son had been killed by the same runaway
accident, though it was nearly twenty years ago.

"'She was ill, sir, was Mrs. Marchant; too ill to see anybody. For a
long time she wouldn't believe that the accident had happened, and when
she really sensed it, she was as good as dead for nigh five years. One
day some of her people came to me--'twas the year after my own husband
died--and asked if I would take a lady and her nurse here to live with
me for the summer. They told me of her sickness and how she