Little Novels | Page 4

"Well, and what happened then?"
"The lady was frightened--and that frightened me. I think," the child
repeated positively, "she's mad."
It occurred to Mr. Rayburn that the lady might be blind. He rose at once
to set the doubt at rest.
"Wait here," he said, "and I'll come back to you."
But Lucy clung to him with both hands; Lucy declared that she was
afraid to be by herself. They left the alcove together.
The new point of view at once revealed the stranger, leaning against the
trunk of a tree. She was dressed in the deep mourning of a widow. The
pallor of her face, the glassy stare in her eyes, more than accounted for
the child's terror--it excused the alarming conclusion at which she had
arrived.
"Go nearer to her," Lucy whispered.

They advanced a few steps. It was now easy to see that the lady was
young, and wasted by illness--but (arriving at a doubtful conclusion
perhaps under the present circumstances) apparently possessed of rare
personal attractions in happier days. As the father and daughter
advanced a little, she discovered them. After some hesitation, she left
the tree; approached with an evident intention of speaking; and
suddenly paused. A change to astonishment and fear animated her
vacant eyes. If it had not been plain before, it was now beyond all
doubt that she was not a poor blind creature, deserted and helpless. At
the same time, the expression of her face was not easy to understand.
She could hardly have looked more amazed and bewildered, if the two
strangers who were observing her had suddenly vanished from the
place in which they stood.
Mr. Rayburn spoke to her with the utmost kindness of voice and
manner.
"I am afraid you are not well," he said. "Is there anything that I can
do--"
The next words were suspended on his lips. It was impossible to realize
such a state of things; but the strange impression that she had already
produced on him was now confirmed. If he could believe his senses,
her face did certainly tell him that he was invisible and inaudible to the
woman whom he had just addressed! She moved slowly away with a
heavy sigh, like a person disappointed and distressed. Following her
with his eyes, he saw the dog once more--a little smooth-coated terrier
of the ordinary English breed. The dog showed none of the restless
activity of his race. With his head down and his tail depressed, he
crouched like a creature paralyzed by fear. His mistress roused him by
a call. He followed her listlessly as she turned away.
After walking a few paces only, she suddenly stood still.
Mr. Rayburn heard her talking to herself.
"Did I feel it again?" she said, as if perplexed by some doubt that awed
or grieved her. After a while her arms rose slowly, and opened with a

gentle caressing action--an embrace strangely offered to the empty air!
"No," she said to herself, sadly, after waiting a moment. "More perhaps
when to-morrow comes--no more to-day." She looked up at the clear
blue sky. "The beautiful sunlight! the merciful sunlight!" she murmured.
"I should have died if it had happened in the dark."
Once more she called to the dog; and once more she walked slowly
away.
"Is she going home, papa?' the child asked.
"We will try and find out," the father answered.
He was by this time convinced that the poor creature was in no
condition to be permitted to go out without some one to take care of her.
From motives of humanity, he was resolved on making the attempt to
communicate with her friends.
III.
THE lady left the Gardens by the nearest gate; stopping to lower her
veil before she turned into the busy thoroughfare which leads to
Kensington. Advancing a little way along the High Street, she entered a
house of respectable appearance, with a card in one of the windows
which announced that apartments were to let.
Mr. Rayburn waited a minute--then knocked at the door, and asked if
he could see the mistress of the house. The servant showed him into a
room on the ground floor, neatly but scantily furnished. One little white
object varied the grim brown monotony of the empty table. It was a
visiting-card.
With a child's unceremonious curiosity Lucy pounced on the card, and
spelled the name, letter by letter: "Z, A, N, T," she repeated. "What
does that mean ?"
Her father looked at the card, as he took it away from her, and put it
back on the table. The name was printed, and the address was added in

pencil: "Mr. John Zant, Purley's Hotel."
The mistress made her appearance. Mr. Rayburn heartily wishe d
himself out of the house again, the moment