of the lower animals.

Mr. Waring met them at the moment in an anxious flutter: "Mrs. Wilde is
here. She is coming down the path."

Mrs. Wilde was a small, plump old lady with a sober, tranquil face framed
in soft puffs of white hair; her dress never rustled or brought itself into
any notice; her language never fell uneasily out of its quiet gait; when
she spoke to you, you felt that something genuine and happy dominated you
for the moment.

"I followed Mr. Waring here," holding out her hand. "One makes acquaintance
so much more quickly out of doors. I must begin ours by asking for your
arm, Miss Swendon. I am fat and scant o' breath, and apt to forget it."

Jane drew the puffy hand eagerly through her arm. She would have liked to
say outright how welcome the motherly presence and the honest voice were to
her just then.

Mrs. Wilde dismissed the captain and Mr. Waring, and the two women sat down
in the arbor, and at once were at ease and at home with each other. Bruno
came up, eyed and smelled the new-comer, and snuggled down on her skirts to
go to sleep.

"He vouches for me," she said nodding. "You must take me at his valuation."

"He makes no mistakes."

"Nor do you, I suspect. That reminds me, Miss Swendon. I brought a friend
with me, and now that I have seen you I mean to bespeak your good-will for
her. She needs just such healthy influence as yours would be."

"Is she ill?"

"Only in mind. One of those morbid women who must make a drama out of their
lives, and prefer to make it a tragedy. A Madame Trebizoff, an
English-woman who married a Russian prince. She is a widow now, with large
means--came to New York a few months ago, and has had much court paid to
her. But her nature makes her always a very lonely woman." She spoke
hastily as the trailing of heavy skirts approached on the grass. "Here she
is, poor thing! Be good to her," she whispered before presenting her in
form. Madame Trebizoff was draped in black, with a good deal of lace about
her head and an artificial yellow rose at her throat. Jane went up to her
with outstretched hand, but when the sallow face turned full on her she
stopped short, looked at it a moment, and then bowed without a word.

"It is the materialized spirit!" But she did not speak, for in a moment she
remembered that she had once taken the bread from the wretched woman's
mouth. She would not do it again.

CHAPTER XIII.

Mr. Van Ness came beaming down through the lil