tting on the edge of the bed in a cold
sweat; 'that was not a dream--she was here!'

She could feel her antagonist's arm within her grasp even now--the very
flesh and bone of it, as it seemed. She looked on the floor whither she
had whirled the spectre, but there was nothing to be seen.

Rhoda Brook slept no more that night, and when she went milking at the
next dawn they noticed how pale and haggard she looked. The milk that
she drew quivered into the pail; her hand had not calmed even yet, and
still retained the feel of the arm. She came home to breakfast as
wearily as if it had been suppertime.

'What was that noise in your chimmer, mother, last night?' said her son.
'You fell off the bed, surely?'

'Did you hear anything fall? At what time?'

'Just when the clock struck two.'

She could not explain, and when the meal was done went silently about her
household work, the boy assisting her, for he hated going afield on the
farms, and she indulged his reluctance. Between eleven and twelve the
garden-gate clicked, and she lifted her eyes to the window. At the
bottom of the garden, within the gate, stood the woman of her vision.
Rhoda seemed transfixed.

'Ah, she said she would come!' exclaimed the boy, also observing her.

'Said so--when? How does she know us?'

'I have seen and spoken to her. I talked to her yesterday.'

'I told you,' said the mother, flushing indignantly, 'never to speak to
anybody in that house, or go near the place.'

'I did not speak to her till she spoke to me. And I did not go near the
place. I met her in the road.'

'What did you tell her?'

'Nothing. She said, "Are you the poor boy who had to bring the heavy
load from market?" And she looked at my boots, and said they would not
keep my feet dry if it came on wet, because they were so cracked. I told
her I lived with my mother, and we had enough to do to keep ourselves,
and that's how it was; and she said then, "I'll come and bring you some
better boots, and see your mother." She gives away things to other folks
in the meads besides us.'

Mrs. Lodge was by this time close to the door--not in her silk, as Rhoda
had seen her in the bed-chamber, but in a morning hat, and gown of common
light material, which became her better than silk. On her arm she
carried a basket.

The impression remaining from the night's experience was still strong.
Brook had almost expected to see the wrinkles, the scorn, and the cruelty
on h