"Oh! no, ma'am, there was a lady."
"A lady! Who?"
"A lady who lives down the river in a great square house, with a sort of short steeple on the roof."
"What, Mrs. Farnham?" said the woman, dropping the blind as if it had been a roll of fire, while her face turned white to the lips, and a glow came into her eyes that made Mary's heart beat quick, for there was something startling in it, as the woman stood searching her face for the answer.
"Yes, that is the name, ma'am."
Aunt Hannah's lips grew colder and whiter, while the glow concentrated in her eyes like a ray of fire.
"Is she coming here to live?" broke in low, stern tones from those cold lips.
"Yes, I heard her say that she was," replied the little girl, gently, warmed by a touch of sympathy; for even this stern betrayal of feeling was less repulsive than the chill apathy of her previous manner.
"And this Isabel. Is the girl hers?"
"No, not hers, she is like me—no, not like me—only in having no father and mother—for Isabel is—oh, how beautiful."