e stranger.

That word here. It stuns, petrifies her! The very sound of it is as a
blow.

A flock of four or five hornbills fly above their heads, making their
noises like an express train through the air. As they fade from sight
Eleanor fancies the train has stopped at the little platform of
Copthorne.

The shrill cry of the jungle fowl, crowing like bantams on the old
farmland at home, seem to repeat the word "_Roche, Roche!_"

"What can I do?" asks the woman wildly, grasping Eleanor's arm. "I am
here, and Beth has cast me out, I have nowhere to lay my head."

"Come with me," says Eleanor slowly, deliberately, looking from the
faded features of the withered woman to Mrs. Kachin's contracted mouth.
"I will give you rest and shelter."

"You will regret it if you take her under your roof!" cries Elizabeth,
slamming the door.

"May the good Samaritans of this world do the same for you, Mrs. Roche,
when you are in trouble," says the weary wanderer, as Eleanor leads her
faltering footsteps down the hill.

She is too excited by the strange coincidence of this, their second
meeting, to wonder whether she is binding a burden on her back, or
offering a refuge thoughtlessly without consulting Carol. She only
looks pityingly at the towzled hair and drawn face of her guest,
pressing her hand sympathetically as they enter the verandah together.
"I am not Mrs. Roche here," falters Eleanor; "you must call me Mrs.
Quinton."

The woman looks searchingly, sadly, into Eleanor's eyes.

"I see," she answers slowly.

"And your name?" asks Eleanor.

"Palfrey Blum. I am Mrs. Blum."

What an odd introduction, what a puzzling fate.

Carol is deeply annoyed at his return to discover the guest.

"What on earth you want to bring that hideous creature with a head of
hay here for I can't imagine," he exclaims. "You must shunt her as
soon as possible, Eleanor; I can't have you picking up waifs and
strays, and turning our home into a sort of infirmary."

"I don't know what to do, it is a most pitiable story."

"Oh! dash the story!" interpolates Carol. "I shouldn't mind if she
were not so confoundedly ugly."

"I could not help it, darling," says Eleanor tearfully. "I did not
think you would object."

"Well, now she is here, what are you going to do with her?"

"I don't know."

Carol stalks up and down the room with his hands in his pockets.

Eleanor's spirits sink.

"I will see what I can do, dearest," she says a