But somehow, here at Grassy
Spring, in the home of Arthur St. Claire, he felt oppressed with a
dread lest this thing should be; and to Edith, when she asked what
made him so pale, he said,
"It's close in here, I think. Let's hurry out into the open air."
She led him to an iron chair beneath a forest maple, and leaving
him there alone went back to close the windows she had opened. One
of those in the drawing-room resisted all her efforts for a time,
but came down at last with a bang, causing her to start, and hit
her foot against a frame which she had not before observed, but
which she now saw was a portrait standing in the dark corner with
its face against the wall.
"Truly there can be no harm in looking at this," she thought, and
turning it to the light she stepped back to examine it.
'Twas the picture of a black-eyed, black-haired child--a little
girl, scarcely three years old, judging from the baby face, and
the fat, dimpled hands turning so earnestly the leaves of a
picture book. One tiny foot was bare, and one encased in a red
morocco shoe.
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