long time since I have seen a
child."--"No," said I, "I am not afraid of you. I was frightened
before I saw you, because I was all alone, and I wished I could see my
father and mother;" and I hung my head so that my new friend could not
see the tears in my eyes, for she watched me curiously. "All alone:
that is like me," said she to herself. "All alone? a child is not all
alone, but there is no one like me. I am something alone: there is
nothing else of my fashion, a creature who lives forever!" and Lady
Ferry sighed pitifully. Did she mean that she never was going to die
like other people? But she was silent, and I did not dare to ask for
any explanation as we walked back and forward. Her fingers kept moving
round my wrist, smoothing it as if she liked to feel it, and to keep
my hand in hers. It seemed to give her pleasure to have me with her,
and I felt quite at my ease presently, and began to talk a little,
assuring her that I did not mind having taken the journey of that day.
I had taken some long journeys: I had been to China once, and it took
a great while to get there; but London was the nicest place I had ever
seen; had Lady Ferry ever been in London? And I was surprised to hear
her say drearily that she had been in London; she had been everywhere.

"Did you go to Westminster Abbey?" I asked, going on with the
conversation childishly. "And did you see where Queen Elizabeth and
Mary Queen of Scots are buried? Mamma had told me all about them."

"Buried, did you say? Are they dead too?" asked Madam eagerly. "Yes,
indeed!" said I: "they have been dead a long time."--"Ah! I had
forgotten," answered my strange companion. "Do you know of any one
else who has died beside them? I have not heard of any one's dying and
going home for so long! Once every one died but me--except some young
people; and I do not know them."--"Why, every one must die," said I
wonderingly. "There is a funeral somewhere every day, I
suppose."--"Every one but me," Madam repeated sadly,--"every one but
me, and I am alone."

Just now cousin Agnes came to the door, and called me. "Go in now,
child," said Lady Ferry. "You may come and sit with me to-morrow if
you choose." And I said good-night, while she turned, and went down
the walk with feeble, lingering steps. She paced to and fro, as I
often saw her afterwards, on the flag-stones; and some bats flew that
way like ragged bits of darkness, holding somehow a spark of life. I
watched her for a m