“Fifteen years and A half,” was her prompt reply.’

Richard never thought of doubting her word.  She was very slight indeed.  “A little morsel,” he called her, and as neither Arthur nor Edith corrected the mistake, he was suffered to think of Nina Bernard as one, who, were she rational, would be a mere school-girl yet.

She puzzled him greatly, and more than once he started at some peculiar intonation of her voice.

“Little Snowdrop,” he said, at last, “it seems to me I have known you all my life.  Look at me, and say if we have met before?”

Edith was too intent upon Nina’s answer to notice Arthur, and she failed to see the spasm of pain and fear which passed over his face, leaving it paler than its wont.  Bending over Nina he waited like Edith while she scanned Richard curiously, and then replied, “Never, unless you are the one that did it—­are you?”

“Did what?” asked Richard, and while Nina hesitated, Arthur replied, “She has a fancy that somebody made her crazy.”

“Not I, oh, no, not I, poor little dove.  I did not do it, sure,” and Richard smoothed the yellow curls resting on his knee.

“Who was it, then?” persisted Nina.  “He was tall, like you, and dark and handsome, wasn’t he Arthur?  You know—­you were there?” and she turned appealingly to the young man, whose heart beat so loudly as to be plainly audible to himself.

“It was Charlie Hudson, perhaps,” suggested Edith, and Arthur mentally blessed her for a remark which turned the channel of Nina’s thoughts, and set her to telling Richard how Charlie cried when he saw her through the iron bars, wearing that queer-looking gown.

“I danced for him with all my might,” she said, “and sang so loud, for I thought it would make him laugh as it did the folks around me, but he only cried the harder.  What made him?” and she looked up wistfully in Richard’s face.  “You are crying, too!” she exclaimed.  “Everybody cries where I am.  Why do they?  I wish they wouldn’t.  I’m good to-day—­there, please don’t, Mr. Big-man, that did do it,”? and raising her waxen hand she brushed away the tear trembling on Richard’s long eyelashes.

Edith now sought to divert her by asking if she were fond of music, and would like to hear her play,

“Nina’ll play,” returned the little maiden, and going to the piano she dashed off a wild, impassioned, mixed-up impromptu, resembling now the soft notes of the lute or the plaintive sob of the winter wind, and then swelling into a full, rich, harmonious melody, which made the blood chill in Edith’s veins, and caused both Richard and Arthur to hold their breath.

This music ceased, and rising from the stool Nina expressed a desire to go home, insisting that Edith should go with her and stay all night.

“I want to sleep with my arms around your neck just like you used to do,” she said; and when Arthur, too, joined in the request, Edith answered that she would if Richard were willing.