He had not been reading for more than ten minutes, when he felt a familiar little hand laid on his knee.
"Tired of playing?" he inquired--with his eyes still on the newspaper.
"I'm frightened, papa."
He looked up directly. The child's pale face startled him. He took her on his knee and kissed her.
"You oughtn't to be frightened, Lucy, when I am with you," he said, gently. "What is it?" He looked out of the alcove as he spoke, and saw a little dog among the trees. "Is it the dog?" he asked.
Lucy answered:
"It's not the dog--it's the lady."
The lady was not visible from the alcove.
"Has she said anything to you?" Mr. Rayburn inquired.
"No."
"What has she done to frighten you?"
The child put her arms round her father's neck.
"Whisper, papa," she said; "I'm afraid of her hearing us. I think she's mad.""Why do you think so, Lucy?"
"She came near to me. I thought she was going to say something.
She seemed to be ill."
"Well? And what then?"
"She looked at me."
There, Lucy found herself at a loss how to express what she had to say next--and took refuge in silence.
"Nothing very wonderful, so far," her father suggested.
"Yes, papa--but she didn't seem to see me when she looked.""Well, and what happened then?"
