centre, toward which they all faced. One window was darkened; but
Madam had pushed back the shutter of the other, and stood looking down
at the garden. I waited for her to speak again after the first
salutation, and presently she said I might be seated; and I took the
nearest chair, and again waited her pleasure. It was gloomy enough,
with the silence and the twilight in the room; and the rain and wind
out of doors sounded louder than they had in cousin Agnes's room; but
soon Lady Ferry came toward me.

"So you did not forget the old woman," said she, with a strange
emphasis on the word old, as if that were her title and her chief
characteristic. "And were not you afraid? I am glad it seemed worth
while; for to-morrow would have been too late. You may like to
remember by and by that you came. And my funeral is to be to-morrow at
last. You see the room is in readiness. You will care to be here, I
hope. I would have ordered you some gloves if I had known; but these
are all too large for your little hands. You shall have a ring; I will
leave a command for that;" and Madam seated herself near me in a
curious, high-backed chair. She was dressed that day in a maroon
brocade, figured with bunches of dim pink flowers; and some of these
flowers looked to me like wicked little faces. It was a mocking,
silly, creature that I saw at the side of every prim bouquet, and I
looked at the faded little imps, until they seemed as much alive as
Lady Ferry herself.

Her head nodded continually, as if it were keeping time to an inaudible
tune, as she sat there stiffly erect. Her skin was pale and withered;
and her cheeks were wrinkled in fine lines, like the crossings of a
cobweb. Her eyes might once have been blue; but they had become nearly
colourless, and, looking at her, one might easily imagine that she was
blind. She had a singularly sweet smile, and a musical voice, which
though sad, had no trace of whining. If it had not been for her smile
and her voice, I think madam would have been a terror to me. I noticed
to-day, for the first time, a curious fragrance, which seemed to come
from her old brocades and silks. It was very sweet, but unlike any
thing I had ever known before; and it was by reason of this that
afterward I often knew, with a little flutter at my heart, she had been
in some other rooms of the great house beside her own. This perfume
seemed to linger for a little while wherever she had been, and yet