It was on her right side, and as it came nearer to her it grew in brightness. A brightness that was dazzling. She had never seen anything like it. Presently it enveloped her. Thrilled, trembling, awed, too frightened to move, the little maid closed her eyes to shut out the glory that surrounded her. And then, from the midst of the radiance there came a voice; sweeter than the song of the skylark, sweeter even than the chime of the bells she loved so well. It said: "Be good, Jeanne, be good! Be obedient, and go frequently to church. I called thee on the uplands, but thou didst not hear. Be good, Jeanne, be good." That was all. The voice ceased. Presently the light lessened; it faded gradually, and soon ceased to glow. The little girl drew a long breath, and fearfully lifted her eyes. There was naught to be seen. The garden looked the same as before. The little birds still pecked at her feet, the leaves still rustled in the breeze, the church wore its usual aspect. Could she have fallen asleep and dreamed, she asked herself. At this moment Isabeau called to her from the door of the cottage: "Take Catherine, Jeanne," she said. "I do not know what ails the child. She frets so. I will brew a posset. Do you attend to her a few moments. Why, what ails you, my little one?" she broke off abruptly as Jeanne came to her. "Is aught amiss? You look distraught." Jeanne opened her lips to reply. She thought to tell her mother of the wonderful thing that had happened, and then, something in Isabeau's expression checked the words. Perhaps the good woman was unduly worried. She was in truth overburdened with the cares of her household. Little Catherine was ailing, and an ailing child is always exacting. Whatever it may have been, Jeanne found the words checked on her lips, and was unable to relate what had occurred. A girl trembling on the brink of womanhood is always shy and timid about relating the thoughts and emotions that fill her. The unusual experience was such as needed a sympathetic and tender listener. The mother was too anxious over the younger child to be in a receptive mood for such confidences. So when she said again: "Is anything amiss, Jeanne?" The little girl only shook her head, and said in a low tone: "No, mother." "I dare say that the trick that Martin played upon you has upset you," commented Isabeau. "You ran the race, and then ran home thinking that something was wrong with us here. It was a mean trick, though done in sport. I shall speak to his mother about it. The boy goes too much with that naughty Colin." Jeanne started. The voice had said that it had called her on the uplands. Could it be that that was what Martin had heard? If so, then it could not have been a dream. It had really happened. She found voice to protest timidly: "Perhaps he did not mean to trick me, mother. Perhaps he really thought that he heard you calling me."