“Ha! ha! what a nice little conversation you two are having,” said the eccentric-looking lady, rising to her feet as she spoke and going towards Nancy. “You are frightened, my pretty girl, although you try not to show it. Well, perhaps you have cause. I know very well that there are times when I am very dangerous. At times, too, I have got unnatural strength. But it so happens that to-day I am in a quiet and tractable mood.” “Let me take you home, mother,” said Murray. He ran up to her side and laid his hand on her arm. She shook it off with a sudden fierce gesture. “Don’t touch me,” she shrieked; “you are the boy. It was on account of you I got into all that trouble. I won’t speak to you! I won’t look at you! Get out of my sight—go, at once!” Her eyes, hitherto quiet, and, although somewhat wandering in their expression, intelligent enough, began to blaze now with a fierce and terrible fury. “Go, Murray,” said Nancy; “go quickly back to the house. Your presence excites your poor mother. No; I am not frightened now. Go, dear, no harm will happen to me.” “Yes, go, Murray Cameron,” shrieked his mother. “I don’t want you about. When I look at you, mischievous, wild, uncontrollable thoughts come into my head. Run away, child—get out of my sight as quickly as you can. I have come here on purpose to speak to this young lady, and I won’t be foiled by twenty little chaps like you. Go away, go at once.” Nance nodded her head emphatically to the boy. He glanced from the mad to the sane woman, and then turning abruptly, walked down the hill. When he had gone a little distance he slipped behind a tree and waited with a palpitating heart for the issue of events. The moment he was out of sight, Mrs. Cameron strode straight up to Nance and laid her hand on her arm. “Look at me,” she said. With an effort Nancy raised her frightened eyes. “I have no reason to dislike you,” said the mad woman, “and you need not fear me. I am anxious to have a right good stare at you, though. I am devoured with curiosity about you.” “Well, here I am,” said Nance. “Here you are, indeed. What a finicking sort of voice you have, and your face, although pretty, is not worth much. Perhaps I am wrong though—you have an obstinate chin—I am glad you have an obstinate chin. You may possibly have strength of character. I hate people without strength of character.” As she spoke, the woman placed her hand under Nancy’s chin, raised her face and looked full into it. Her dancing wild eyes scanned each feature. Presently she turned away laughing again. “I do not hate you,” she said; “after all, you are harmless—you cannot interfere with me. I hate your husband, though, and I hate Murray Cameron.” “But Murray is your child,” said Nancy, shocked.