ing sorrow was almost visible, supporting her,
trying to stop her. "Mary, Mary!" she cried; "oh, my darling, what are
you thinking of? Francis! doctor! make her stop, make her stop."

"Why should she stop?" said Mrs. Turner, rising, too, in her agitation.
"Oh, is it a warning, is it a warning? for my child has seen it,--Connie
has seen it."

"Listen to me, all of you," said Mary, with an effort. "You all know--who
that is. And she has seen her,--the little girl--"

Now the others looked at each other, exchanging a startled look.

"My dear people," cried the doctor, "the case is not the least unusual.
No, no, Mrs. Turner, it is no warning,--it is nothing of the sort. Look
here, Bowyer; you'll believe me. The child is very nervous and sensitive.
She has evidently seen a picture somewhere of our dear old friend. She
has heard the story somehow,--oh, perhaps in some garbled version from
Prentiss, or--of course they've all been talking of it. And the child is
one of those creatures with its nerves all on the surface,--and a little
below par in health, in need of iron and quinine, and all that sort of
thing. I've seen a hundred such cases," cried the doctor, "--a thousand
such; but now, of course, we'll have a fine story made of it, now that
it's come into the ladies' hands."

He was much excited with this long speech; but it cannot be said that any
one paid much attention to him. Mrs. Bowyer was holding Mary in her arms,
uttering little cries and sobs over her, and looking anxiously at her
husband. The vicar sat down suddenly in his chair, with the air of a man
who has judgment to deliver without the least idea what to say; while
Mary, freeing herself unconsciously from her friend's restraining
embrace, stood facing them all with a sort of trembling defiance; and
Mrs. Turner kept on explaining nervously that,--"no, no, her Connie was
not excitable, was not oversensitive, had never known what a delusion
was."

"This is very strange," the vicar said.

"Oh, Mr. Bowyer," cried Mary, "tell me what I am to do!--think if she
cannot rest, if she is not happy, she that was so good to everybody, that
never could bear to see any one in trouble. Oh, tell me, tell me what I
am to do! It is you that have disturbed her with all you have been
saying. Oh, what can I do, what can I do to give her rest?"

"My dear Mary! my dear Mary!" they all cried, in different tones of
consternation; and for a few minutes no one could speak. Mrs. Bo