Chapter VIII

The appearance, manner, and bearing of the two strangers impressed me strongly. The elder had evidently moved in refined and cultivated society all her life. There was about her the air of "a lady, born and bred"--dignified, calm, easy, and courteous. The daughter was a lovely blossom on this stately stem--delicate, beautiful, sweet with the odors of innocence. I see her now as I saw her on that first night of our meeting--to my eyes a new born vision of loveliness.

I found Constance awaiting, with curious interest, my return. I was going right into the heart of this new wonder, and could not fail to bring back some revelation that would satisfy, in a measure, the excitement of mind produced by so singular an intrusion of strangers upon our quiet town. I answered her first look of inquiry by the words:--

"It is over. Another book of life is sealed up here to be opened in eternity."

"Dead! Not dead?"

"Yes, Constance, Mrs. Allen is dead. Her spirit had passed away before my arrival."

"How did she die?--from what cause?"

"From what I can learn she died in a fit of passion." I then related all that I had seen and heard.

"But who can they be?" This query came as a natural sequence. "What right have they in the Allen House?"

"Whoever they may be," I replied, "they act, or, at least, the elder of the two ladies acts as if her right there was not even open to a question. And, perhaps, it is not."

"But what can they be to the Allens?"

"I will give you," said I, "the benefit of my guessing on the subject. You recollect the story told about Captain Allen's mother; how she went off a great many years ago with a stranger--an Englishman."

Constance remembered all about this family history, for it was the romance of our town.

"My conclusion is that this lady is the sister of Captain Allen--the child that his mother took with her when she fled from her husband's house. I am strengthened in this belief from the first impression of her voice, as if the tones had in them something familiar."

We talked this matter over, looking at it in every way, until we satisfied ourselves that my conjectures must be true. The quiet manner in which they had intruded themselves, and taken possession of the house--unheralded as far as we knew--could not but present itself to our minds as a matter of special wonder. The more we conned it over the more we were puzzled. Before coming home I had called at an undertaker's, and notified him that his services were wanted at the Allen House. Early on the next day I took the liberty of calling there myself. I sent up my name, and awaited, with some interest, my reception. The visit might be regarded as an intrusion, and I was prepared to receive a message from