But one day, upon awaking from a long and refreshing sleep, she found the queerest-looking old lady bending over her and scrutinizing her closely. She was nearly bent double, and held a cane in her hand. She uttered a low grunt as Brownie opened her large brown eyes, giving her a surprised look, and then asked, in a sharp, though not unkindly, tone:
“Who are you? What’s your name?”
“My name is Douglas,” replied Brownie, quietly, her pale face flushing slightly at the blunt question.
“Eh? What? Oh! Dundas,” returned the deformed creature, twisting her neck to get a better view of the delicate face. She was evidently hard of hearing, and did not catch the name correctly; but she continued:
“And what’s your other name?”
“Mehetabel,” the young girl said, with her usual quiet smile whenever she pronounced the obnoxious cognomen.
“Ah! Mabel,” replied the old woman, only seeing the motion of her lips, and catching the last syllables. “Mabel Dundas! That is a good-sounding name. Now, how old are you?”
Brownie was upon the point of correcting the mistake regarding her name, when she checked herself.
“What matters it,” she breathed, with a sad sigh, “whether I am Mehetabel Douglas or Mabel Dundas? It will be all the same to her, and perhaps help to shield me from my enemies.”
“I am nearly nineteen,” she replied to the question.