f the young might have the look of premeditation. But,
pshaw! I am talking as if I were twenty instead of--Well, I will leave
you to consult our family record on that point. There are certain
secrets which even the wisest among us cannot be blamed for preserving.

"How did you pass the night?" was Mr. Trohm's first question. "I hope in
all due peace and quiet."

"Thank you," I returned, not seeing why I should increase his anxiety in
my regard. "I have nothing to complain of. I had a dream; but dreams are
to be expected where one has to pass a half-dozen empty rooms to one's
apartment."

He could not restrain his curiosity.

"A dream!" he repeated. "I do not believe in sleep that is broken by
dreams, unless they are of the most cheerful sort possible. And I judge
from what you say that yours were not cheerful."

I wanted to confide in him. I felt that in a way he had a right to know
what had happened to me, or what I thought had happened to me, under
this roof. And yet I did not speak. What I could tell would sound so
puerile in the broad sunshine that enveloped us. I merely remarked that
cheerfulness was not to be expected in a domicile so given over to the
ravages of time, and then with that lightness and versatility which
characterize me under certain exigencies, I introduced a topic we could
discuss without any embarrassment to himself or me.

"Do you see Mother Jane over there?" I asked. "I had some talk with her
yesterday. She seems like a harmless imbecile."

"Very harmless," he acquiesced; "her only fault is greed; that is
insatiable. Yet it is not strong enough to take her a quarter of a mile
from this place. Nothing could do that, I think. She believes that her
daughter Lizzie is still alive and will come back to the hut some day.
It's very sad when you think that the girl's dead, and has been dead
nearly forty years."

"Why does she harp on numbers?" I asked. "I heard her mutter certain
ones over and over."

"That is a mystery none of us have ever been able to solve," said he.
"Possibly she has no reason for it. The vagaries of the witless are
often quite unaccountable."

He remained looking at me long after he had finished speaking, not, I
felt sure, from any connection he found between what he had just said
and anything to be observed in me, but from--Well, I was glad that I had
been carefully trained in my youth to pay the greatest attention to my
morning toilets. Any woman can look well at nig