pect I shall feel better to-morrow, and I shall leave
much more comfortably when this little one has been claimed. No doubt
somebody will turn up for her in the morning. It's too late for anyone
else to come to-day."

"There's a carriage arriving now," replied Martha, rising and going to
the window. "Somebody's getting out of it. Yes, and she's coming in
here, too, I verily believe."

Martha was not mistaken. A moment afterwards the door was opened, and
the landlord obsequiously ushered in a stranger. The lady was young, and
handsomely dressed in deep mourning. Her face was fair and pretty,
though it showed signs of the strongest agitation. She was deadly pale,
her eyes had a strained expression, and her lips twitched nervously.
Without a word of introduction or explanation she walked straight to the
child, and stood gazing at it with an intensity which it was painful to
behold, catching her breath as if speech failed her.

"Do you recognize her?" asked Miss Barbara anxiously, turning her
nursling so that the light from the lamp fell full on its chubby face.

"No! No!" gasped the stranger. "I don't know it. I can't tell whose it
is in the least."

She averted her face as she spoke; her mouth was quivering, and her
hands trembled.

"You've lost a baby of this age in the accident, maybe?" enquired
Martha.

"No; I have lost nobody. I only thought--I expected----" She spoke
wildly, almost hysterically, casting swift, uneasy glances at the child,
and as quickly turning away her eyes.

"You expected?" said Miss Sherbourne interrogatively, for the stranger
had broken off in the middle of the sentence.

"Nothing--nothing at all! I'm sorry to have troubled you. I must go at
once, for my carriage is waiting."

"Then you don't know the child?"

"I don't," the stranger repeated emphatically; "not in the slightest. I
tell you I have never seen it in my life before!"

She left the room as abruptly as she had entered, without even the
civility of a good-bye; addressed a few hurried words in a low tone to
the landlord in the hall, then, entering her conveyance, drove off into
the rapidly gathering darkness.

"There's something queer about her," said Martha, watching the departure
over the top of the short window blind. "She was ready to take her oath
that she'd never set eyes on the child before, but the sight of it sent
her crazy. Deny what she may, if you ask me, it's my firm opinion she
was telling a lie."

"Surel