you. That is the only drawback to my
apartments. Many and many a time I miss
letting them because of her. Not that she is
any nuisance, I assure you; she is not mad
as one may say, but a little cracked. You'd
never see her except in the garden; and
she's as harmless as a baby. I keep her
because she is a permanence, and Mrs. Haddan,
of Haddan Lodge, is very liberal.
I'm sure you need not be afraid of her."

"I am never afraid," I replied, "and I
think these rooms will just suit me. I am
an artist in water colours, and I want a
quiet place in the country."

It was a chance stroke of my imagination,
for now I was fairly in for it, I gave it the
reins. Painting in water colours would do
as well as anything else; for I could do a few
daubs at random as well as most girls, and
at any rate Mrs. Townshend would be no
critic.

"You will take these back rooms then,
miss?" she said, with a very obvious
descent to familiarity.

"Yes," I answered, "and I suppose you
will let me come in at once, if I pay a week
in advance. I don't want to return to
London, and my luggage is all at the
station."

"Well, you may come," she said, affecting
to hesitate for a moment or two.

"I suppose I may walk in the garden
when I choose?" I added.

"To be sure," she said, "if you've no
fear of Mrs. Becket."

I went back to the station, which was
nearly two miles away, to bring my large
quantity of luggage; for I had been obliged
to pack for a prolonged sojourn in a fashionable
sea-bathing place, and had a number
of things with me of no use whatever in
my assumed circumstances. Mrs. Townshend
cast an eye of favour upon my many
boxes, and declined being paid a week's
rent in advance.

It was evening by the time I was
installed in my new abode. My first feelings
were vaguely mournful. I examined my
room more closely, and found that the
furniture consisted of four cane-seated
chairs, two of them broken in the back and
tied together with old bonnet-ribbons; a
large chest of drawers, with a tea-tray
reared on the top against the wall; a queer
kind of sofa, called a squab by Mrs. Townshend,
with each of its four legs supported
by some volumes of religious works; a
portrait or two of preachers, and an extensive
map of London. A small shaky table stood in
the middle of the floor, covered with a faded
shawl instead of a cloth. I looked round
the place in ludicrous dismay, but I had no
one to speak to; and I seated myself on
one of the unbroken chairs by the window.
The evening was growing more dusky every
moment; and the hawthorn bushes, covered
with white blossoms on every twig to the
very heart of them, glimmered with the
strange weird halo which all white flowers
have in the twilight. All at once, from
amidst the profusion of flowers stepped out
the strong square figure of the monomaniac;
and I shrank back once more with a
warning sensation of terror.

It was a day or two before I was upon
speaking terms with Becket; for I resolved
to act with great caution, and I wished her to
be the first to advance towards an acquaintance.
Upon one side of the garden there
was a walk completely hidden by trees, elms
and limes growing on the outer side, and
smaller garden trees, laburnums, acacias,
and lilacs, on the other. At the furthest
end of it was a small open alcove, a common
thing enough, such as are to be seen
anywhere in tea-gardens; but with a
pretty view from it up the checkered
vista of the trees, with a glimpse here and
there into the fields at the side, now
white and yellow with spring flowers. This
was a favourite haunt of Becket's, and I
made it my favourite also. She passed me
a few times when I was sitting there, eyeing
me askance; but as I smiled pleasantly
at her, she spoke to me at last.

"I think there'd be room for us both in
there," she said.

"Plenty of room," I answered heartily,
moving my painting things off the little
table. She took her seat opposite to me
where I could look at her well. Her coarse
features wore that peculiar expression of
self-conceit so often to be seen in the
insane; an expression which did not lay claim
to any compassion or sorrow for her state;
and I must own I felt none at the time,
though I knew the woman was a maniac.

"Have you brought your work with
you?" I asked, glancing at her satchel.

Becket's eyes glared fiercely at me for a
moment, and her heavy brows frowned;
but I gazed steadily and smilingly into her
angry face, without venturing a second
glance at the satchel, and the impending
storm cleared away.

"I have no work to do now," she said.
"My working days are over."

"While mine are only beginning," I
remarked, pointing to my miserable attempt
at painting.

I found that Becket had a good deal to
say about water colours, painting on velvet,