The carriage was sent to the station with plenty of wraps, and every care was taken of the strange lady.

The wind was rolling like thunder through the great avenues, the tall trees bent under the fury of the blast; when the sound ceased I heard the carriage wheels, and going to my mother, who was reading, I said: "She has come." My mother took my hand silently.

Why did we both look at each other?
What curious foreboding came to us both, that made us cling to each other?
Poor mother! poor child! Some time afterward my father came in and said: "Will you see Miss Reinhart to-night, Beatrice, darling ?" She looked flushed and tired, but she answered, laughing quietly at her own nervousness: "I suppose I shall not sleep unless I do see her, Roland.

Yes, when she has taken her tea and had time to make herself quite comfortable, I shall be pleased to see her." Why did we mother and child, cling to each other as though some terrible danger were overtaking us?
It struck me that there was some little delay, and my father remained with the strange lady.
We had talked about her and wondered what she would be like.

I had always pictured her as a girl many years older than myself, but still a girl, with a certain consciousness and shyness about her.