tween the village and the
hilltop five times, when, turning and coming down the hill, I saw, far
away, the figure of a woman walking.

I knew it was Mother Anastasia, but I did not hasten to meet her. In
fact, I thought the further she was from the village, when our interview
took place, the more likely she would be to make it long enough to be
satisfactory. I came slowly down the hill, and, reaching a place where a
great oak-tree shaded the road, I waited.

She came on quickly, her gray dress appearing heavier and more sombre
against the sun-lighted grass and foliage than it had appeared in the
dreary room of the House of Martha. As she approached the tree I
advanced to meet her.

"You made me come too far," she said reproachfully, as soon as we were
near each other. "The lane which leads to the house I came to visit is a
quarter of a mile behind me."

"I am sorry," I replied, "that I have made you walk any farther than
necessary on such a warm morning, but I did not know that you intended
to turn from this road. Let us step into the shade of this tree; we can
talk more comfortably there."

She looked at the tree, but did not move. "What I have to say," she
remarked, "can be said here; it will not take long."

"You must not stand in the sun," I replied; "you are already heated.
Come into the shade," and, without waiting her answer, I walked toward
the tree; she followed me.

"Now, then," said I, "here is a great stone conveniently placed, upon
which we can sit and rest while we talk."

She fixed her large eyes upon me with a certain surprise. "Truly, you
have no regard for conventionalities. It is sufficiently out of the way
for a sister of the House of Martha to meet a gentleman in this manner,
but to sit with him under a tree would be ridiculously absurd, to say
the least of it."

"It does not strike me in that light," I said. "You are tired and warm,
and must sit down. You came here on my account, and I regard you, in a
manner, as a guest."

She smiled, and looked at the rock which I had pointed out. It was a
flat one, about three feet long, and it seemed as if it had been put
there on purpose to serve for a seat.

"I am tired," she said, and sat down upon it. As she did so, she gave a
look about her, and at the same time made a movement with her right
hand, which I often before had noticed in women. It was the involuntary
expression of the female soul, longing for a fan. A fan, however, made
up no pa