veiled the proud little head; but the spell lay not
in them, any more than in the perfect symmetry of her form, or the
harmonious grace of her motion, or the melodious intonations of her
voice.

Edith, still leading the little girl, advanced to Marian's side, where
the latter stood at the yard gate.

"I heard a scream, Marian, dear--what was it?"

Marian pointed to the old elm tree outside the cottage fence, under the
shade of which stood the poor stroller, pressing her side, and panting
for breath.

"Edith, do you see that young woman? She it was."

"Good heaven!" exclaimed Edith, turning a shade paler, and beginning,
with trembling fingers, to unfasten the gate.

"Why, do you know her, Edith?"

"Yes! yes! My soul, it is Fanny Laurie! I thought she was in some asylum
at the North!" said Edith, passing the gate, and going up to the
wanderer. "Fanny! Fanny! Dearest Fanny!" she said, taking her thin hand,
and looking in her crazed eyes and lastly, putting both arms around her
neck and kissing her.

"Do you kiss me?" asked the poor creature, in amazement.

"Yes, dear Fanny! Don't you know me?"

"Yes, yes, you are--I know you--you are--let's see, now--"

"Edith Lance, you know--your old playmate!"

"Ah! yes, I know--you had another name."

"Edith Shields, since I was married, but I am widowed now, Fanny."

"Yes, I know--Fanny has heard them talk!"

She swept her hands across her brow several times, as if to clear her
mental vision, and gazing upon Edith, said:

"Ah! old playmate! Did the palms lie? The ravaged tome, the
blood-stained hearth, and the burning roof for me--the fated nuptials,
the murdered bridegroom, and the fatherless child for you. Did the palms
lie, Edith? You were ever incredulous! Answer, did the palms lie?"

"The prediction was partly fulfilled, as it was very likely to be at the
time our neighborhood was overrun by a ruthless foe. It happened so,
poor Fanny! You did not know the future, any more than I did--no one on
earth knows the mysteries of the future, 'not the angels in heaven, nor
the Son, but the Father only.'"

This seemed to annoy the poor creature--soothsaying, by palmistry, had
been her weakness in her brighter days, and now the strange propensity
clung to her through the dark night of her sorrows, and received
strength from her insanity.

"Come in, dear Fanny," said Edith, "come in and stay with us."

"No, no!" she almost shrieked again. "I should bring a curse upo