She lay there, a tiny childlike figure, clad in a white woollen gown. Her bright brown hair was twisted like a coronet round her small head. Her face was very pale; she had delicate features, but determined chin, a broad brow and immense dark blue eyes fringed with black lashes. It was her eyes that held and dominated the froward, that melted into tenderness the most obdurate and hardened, that glowed always with a burning fervour. Her lips were sensitive and sweet. Her hands were clasped round a brown leather book with brass edges, and when Adrienne entered, she was gazing out of her open window to the grassy pasture land in front of her. On a small table by her side was a big bowl of wild flowers. "Here is Mademoiselle, Agatha, come to see us at last," said Marie in her cheery tone; then, drawing a wooden chair close to the couch, she offered it to Adrienne, and left the room. [Illustration: "Here is Mademoiselle, Agatha, come to see us at last," said Marie in her cheery tone. _Adrienne]_ _[Chapter VIII]_ Adrienne bent over the invalid, who took hold of both her hands, and held them silently in hers, whilst her great eyes regarded her with grave tenderness. "Ah," she said in a very sweet voice, "you must forgive me for my eagerness. I always want to see people's souls." "But can you?" asked Adrienne with a smile, meeting Agatha's intent gaze with great equanimity. "Not always, not entirely; but I see further in than most people do. It makes me understand them so much better; it gives me knowledge and sympathy." Then she let Adrienne's hands slip out of her grasp. As she held her, Adrienne had a strange feeling, as if an electric current were running into her from the gentle tenacious grip of those little white hands. When she seated herself she said: "I would like to know how far you see through me." Agatha looked at her with a smile and a flash of her eyes. "Ah, you are young, you are happy, you have never suffered on your own account; and you do not much like suffering on the account of others. You are very willing, is it not so? But after a time the goodwill and patience wear thin." "I think you are a fortune-teller," said Adrienne with a little laugh; but she felt uncomfortable, as she was distinctly conscious that day that she was already beginning to be tired and fretted with her aunt's continual depression and discontent. For a moment there was silence. Agatha was gazing out again, up into the blue sky and her lips were moving, though she did not speak. Adrienne had an instinct that she was praying. Then the small hand was laid caressingly on her arm. "And how much do you know of our Father?" Adrienne gazed at her at first uncomprehendingly, then the colour mounted to her cheeks. "You mean," she said with embarrassment, "God. I believe in Him, of course."