oom, let in a
stream of light by which we were enabled to see each other and exchange
the greetings suitable to the occasion.

"Miss Butterworth, my mother's old friend," she murmured, with an almost
pitiful effort to be cordial, "we are so glad to have you visit us.
Won't you--won't you sit down?"

What did it mean? She had pointed to a chair in the sitting-room, but
her face was turned away again as if drawn irresistibly toward some
secret object of dread. Was there anyone or anything at the top of the
dim staircase I could faintly see in the distance? It would not do for
me to ask, nor was it wise for me to show that I thought this reception
a strange one. Stepping into the room she pointed out, I waited for her
to follow me, which she did with manifest reluctance. But when she was
once out of the atmosphere of the hall, or out of reach of the sight or
sound of whatever it was that frightened her, her face took on a smile
that ingratiated her with me at once and gave to her very delicate
aspect, which up to that moment had not suggested the remotest likeness
to her mother, a piquant charm and subtle fascination that were not
unworthy of the daughter of Althea Burroughs.

"You must not mind the poverty of your welcome," she said, with a
half-proud, half-apologetic look around her, which I must say the
bareness and shabby character of the room we were in fully justified.
"We have not been very well off since father died and mother left us.
Had you given us a chance we should have written you that our home would
not offer many inducements to you after your own, but you have come
unexpectedly and----"

"There, there," I put in, for I saw that her embarrassment would soon
get the better of her, "do not speak of it. I did not come to enjoy your
home, but to see you. Are you the eldest, my dear, and where are your
sister and brother?"

"I am not the eldest," she said. "I am Lucetta. My sister"--here
her head stole irresistibly back to its old position of
listening--"will--will come soon. My brother is not in the house."

"Well," said I, astonished that she did not ask me to take off my
things, "you are a pretty girl, but you do not look very strong. Are you
quite well, my dear?"

She started, looked at me eagerly, almost anxiously, for a moment, then
straightened herself and began to lose some of her abstraction.

"I am not a strong person," she smiled, "but neither am I so very weak
either. I was always small. So