A Singular Metamorphosis

Miss Fiske had lived with the Tracys several years, and her incipient curiosity concerning the mystery pertaining to their household was becoming more obvious, for mystery there certainly was. At specific periods of the year, when she advanced towards certain portions of the old mansion, she had been deterred in her attempts to proceed. It was not that she was more curious than the average mortal, but no matter how devoid of innate curiosity one is, the mere fact that there is something worthy of secrecy immediately produces as a natural sequence a suddenly awakened interest and a consequent desire of exposition.
There were only three occupants of the home: the two Tracys, brother and sister, and Miss Fiske, who had accepted the proffered home on the death of her father, her only near surviving relative. It is true there had been an intimation of loving services that might be rendered in return, to the brother and sister, or, perhaps, she would not have accepted so readily the proffered home without remuneration, though it was evident that they needed none, and would have been sorely wounded by any such offer. Miss Fiske could well have afforded something more substantial than her presence. While the two families were not consanguineous, there had been intermarriages, consequently, more than feelings of friendship existed between them. Mr. Tracy seemed to the girl of twenty-two almost like a father, guardian he had been till she arrived at her majority.
Sometimes Adelina fancied her life similar to that portrayed by writers of fiction, the old dwelling and its accompanying secretiveness all tending to foster this belief. It is not my wish to leave the impression that such a trivial circumstance could effect a radical transformation in so sensible a young person as the one in question, nor did she linger over these things to the detriment of better thoughts and occu pations. There were times, as already mentioned, when it was plain that her presence in the western wing of the house would be an intrusion. The cause of this, try as she would, could not be divined. Everywhere else she was welcomed with joy, for both Harold and Mary Tracy had learned to look upon her as the best gift vouchsafed to their isolated lives; not that they had ever been really unhappy, except at rare intervals, but for years they had held aloof from the social gatherings of Deanmouth, deeming each other's society all-sufficient until the appearance of a third person, who immediately upset that theory, in fact, rejuvenating all that came into contact with her striking personality. Prior to her arrival at Deanmouth, there had indeed been one who had succumbed to her influence. Poor young fellow! He had so long brooded over her refusal to be in turn influenced in like manner by him that his mind had gradually become unbalanced. There had been an attack of fever; hence, the combination of these simultaneous misfortunes—sickness and disappointment—had resulted in the unhinging of a heretofore well balanced mind.