How are you feeling,
dearie?"
It was a woman's voice that spoke, soft and wheedling, yet with a
certain unpleasant twang in it. She spoke to Melody, who sat still,
with folded hands, and head bowed as if in a dream.
"I am well, thank you," answered the child; and she was silent again.
The woman glanced over her shoulder at a man who had followed her into
the room,--a dark man with an eager face and restless, discontented
eyes; the same man who had watched Melody over the wall of the old
burying-ground, and heard her sing. He had never heard her sing since,
save for that little snatch of "Robin Ruff," which she had sung to the
children the day when he stood and pleaded with Vesta Dale to sell her
soul for her sister's comfort.
"And here's Mr. Anderson come to see you, according to custom," said
the woman; "and I hope you are glad to see him, I'm sure, for he's
your best friend, dearie, and he does love you so; it would be quite
surprising, if you weren't the sweet lamb you are, sitting there like
a flower all in the dark."
She paused, and waited for a reply; but none came. The two exchanged a
glance of exasperation, and the woman shook her fist at the child; but
her voice was still soft and smooth as she resumed her speech.
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