’Nothing.  She said, “Are you the poor boy who had to bring the heavy load from market?” And she looked at my boots, and said they would not keep my feet dry if it came on wet, because they were so cracked.  I told her I lived with my mother, and we had enough to do to keep ourselves, and that’s how it was; and she said then, “I’ll come and bring you some better boots, and see your mother.”  She gives away things to other folks in the meads besides us.’

Mrs. Lodge was by this time close to the door—­not in her silk, as Rhoda had seen her in the bed-chamber, but in a morning hat, and gown of common light material, which became her better than silk.  On her arm she carried a basket.

The impression remaining from the night’s experience was still strong.  Brook had almost expected to see the wrinkles, the scorn, and the cruelty on her visitor’s face.

She would have escaped an interview, had escape been possible.  There was, however, no backdoor to the cottage, and in an instant the boy had lifted the latch to Mrs. Lodge’s gentle knock.

‘I see I have come to the right house,’ said she, glancing at the lad, and smiling.  ‘But I was not sure till you opened the door.’

The figure and action were those of the phantom; but her voice was so indescribably sweet, her glance so winning, her smile so tender, so unlike that of Rhoda’s midnight visitant, that the latter could hardly believe the evidence of her senses.  She was truly glad that she had not hidden away in sheer aversion, as she had been inclined to do.  In her basket Mrs. Lodge brought the pair of boots that she had promised to the boy, and other useful articles.

At these proofs of a kindly feeling towards her and hers Rhoda’s heart reproached her bitterly.  This innocent young thing should have her blessing and not her curse.  When she left them a light seemed gone from the dwelling.  Two days later she came again to know if the boots fitted; and less than a fortnight after that paid Rhoda another call.  On this occasion the boy was absent.

‘I walk a good deal,’ said Mrs. Lodge, ’and your house is the nearest outside our own parish.  I hope you are well.  You don’t look quite well.’

Rhoda said she was well enough; and, indeed, though the paler of the two, there was more of the strength that endures in her well-defined features and large frame, than in the soft-cheeked young woman before her.  The conversation became quite confidential as regarded their powers and weaknesses; and when Mrs. Lodge was leaving, Rhoda said, ’I hope you will find this air agree with you, ma’am, and not suffer from the damp of the water-meads.’

The younger one replied that there was not much doubt of it, her general health being usually good.  ‘Though, now you remind me,’ she added, ’I have one little ailment which puzzles me.  It is nothing serious, but I cannot make it out.’

She uncovered her left hand and arm; and their outline confronted Rhoda’s gaze as the exact original of the limb she had beheld and seized in her dream.  Upon the pink round surface of the arm were faint marks of an unhealthy colour, as if produced by a rough grasp.  Rhoda’s eyes became riveted on the discolorations; she fancied that she discerned in them the shape of her own four fingers.