ree, with a basket on one arm
and walking with a strong stick, came steadily towards the door. She
would have been comely if it had not been for a fixed frown which seemed
odd on her pleasant, good-tempered face. She wore a print bodice, with a
point back and front, and a short bunchy stuff skirt. Though Sarah was
well in sight she took no notice of her, but walked straight on towards
her, until the latter said with evident pleasure--

"It's you, Mary!"

"Yes!" answered Mary, with a slight start.

"How are you?"

"Quite well," said Sarah. "Here's the door." She laid her hand over that
of the other woman and set it on the side of the post, at the same time
taking her basket, which was full of eggs, and only partially covered by
a cloth.

"How many?" she asked. "Have you counted?"

"Four dozen," replied Mary. "Have you finished your butter?"

"It's coming," said Anne, taking the handle again.

"Let _me_ try," said Mary. "I often think I could manage butter nicely."

"Don't get too clever," said Anne. "You do a wonderful lot already. Stop
and sit a bit, won't you? Let me see if you know where your chair is."

The woman stepped into the dairy, turned to the left of the door, and
sat down without hesitation in the chair which Sarah had moved on first
perceiving her approach, and as she did so one could see that the frown,
so out of place on her steady and tranquil face, had an origin of
tragedy. She was blind.

CHAPTER V

Mary Colton was one of the most esteemed women possible in any
country-side. She had scarcely been beyond the few miles which
surrounded her home, and since she was a girl had never set foot in a
train. She had not been born blind, but had had her sight until she was
seventeen, when an illness darkened the world for ever. "A pretty girl
she was too," said those who remembered. Of the prettiness she retained
now only the essence, that of her pleasant goodness, yet her appearance
was still attractive in spite of her thick figure and contracted brows.
She had not that unearthly exalted expression so familiar to one in the
blind, who look upwards for the light and search in vain. Rather, unless
one looked narrowly, one would take her for a middle-aged woman of good
health and steady temper, who was a little short-sighted. She used a
stick out of doors, and when she went very long distances she took with
her a small terrier, which warned her of the difficult parts of the
road. But indoors