ered about, exploring the different paths, some of
which were arched over by the tall lilacs, or by arbors where the
grape-leaves did not seem fully grown. I wondered if my mother would
miss me. It seemed impossible that I should have seen her only that
morning; and suddenly I had a consciousness that she was thinking of
me, and she seemed so close to me, that it would not be strange if she
could hear what I said. And I called her twice softly; but the sound
of my unanswered voice frightened me. I saw some round white flowers
at my feet, looking up mockingly. The smell of the earth and the new
grass seemed to smother me. I was afraid to be there all alone in the
wide open air; and all the tall bushes that were so still around me
took strange shapes, and seemed to be alive. I was so terribly far
away from the mother whom I had called; the pleasure of my journey,
and my coming to cousin Agnes, faded from my mind, and that
indescribable feeling of hopelessness and dread, and of having made an
irreparable mistake, came in its place. The thorns of a straying
slender branch of a rose-bush caught my sleeve maliciously as I turned
to hurry away, and then I caught sight of a person in the path just
before me. It was such a relief to see some one, that I was not
frightened when I saw that it must be Lady Ferry.

She was bent, but very tall and slender, and was walking slowly with a
cane. Her head was covered with a great hood or wrapping of some kind,
which she pushed back when she saw me. Some faint whitish figures on
her dress looked like frost in the moonlight; and the dress itself was
made of some strange stiff silk, which rustled softly like dry rushes
and grasses in the autumn,--a rustling noise that carries a chill with
it. She came close to me, a sorrowful little figure very dreary at
heart, standing still as the flowers themselves; and for several
minutes she did not speak, but watched me, until I began to be afraid
of her. Then she held out her hand, which trembled as if it were
trying to shake off its rings. "My dear," said she "I bid you welcome:
I have known your father. I was told of your coming. Perhaps you will
walk with me? I did not think to find you here alone." There was a
fascinating sweetness in Madam's voice, and I at once turned to walk
beside her, holding her hand fast, and keeping pace with her feeble
steps. "Then you are not afraid of me?" asked the old lady, with a
strange quiver in her voice. "It is a