“The name is Darling,” insisted the lady in an inflexible tone. “Darling? Yes, I believe it is,” stammered Conway, who had begun to guess the identity of his visitor. “How can I assist you?” he inquired politely. “Please tell me all you know of this brother and sister,” said the lady. “I have come from New York to find out about them, perhaps for their benefit.” “There is so much to tell,” said Conway. “And the history of those two is so strange in some particulars, that, really, to a stranger----” And he stopped, embarrassed. “I am not a stranger,” said his visitor, “although I have never seen those two. You need not fear to tell me anything you know of them. What are their dispositions?” Conway spoke very highly of their dispositions. In fact, he was rapidly becoming enthusiastic, when a glance from his visitor checked him. “I see you are a good friend of theirs,” she said coldly. “Please tell me what you can about them as briefly as possible.” Conway had made a guess as to the identity of his visitor, and he had so little doubt as to the correctness of his guess that on receiving this check he proceeded as quietly as possible to give a detailed history of the brother and sister, only suppressing such things as he thought might prove offensive to his visitor. “Have they any relatives?” inquired the lady, when he had finished. “Only one aunt, I believe,” said Conway, “whom they believe to be old and very poor.” “Do they believe that?” demanded the lady, with some degree of interest. Conway bowed. There was silence now for some moments, and, although his visitor stared steadily into vacancy without moving a muscle of her face, Conway thought he could discern a softer, somewhat less implacable look about her. “Do you go there very often?” she inquired abruptly at last. “Why, yes,” replied the doctor, blushing again. “I go there quite often; in fact,” he added, in a burst of candor, “I was just about to start for the farm when you entered.” “Humph!” said the lady, so impressively that Conway blushed again. “Is that your conveyance?” she said, looking out at the little rough pony and shabby gig in front of the office. Conway admitted that it was. “I will go with you,” she said, as abruptly as possible. And though Conway felt very ill at ease, and not altogether pleased at this turn of affairs, there was nothing left to do but hand his visitor into the old-fashioned gig and start the pony in the direction of the farm. There was very little said as the little pony jogged steadily along. The woman sat bolt upright, with her hands folded in her lap, and stared straight over the pony’s ears, while Conway stole sidelong glances at her, and wondered if he were going to be the means of helping his friends by this ride, or if he were bringing them more trouble. “There,” said the doctor, as a turn in the road brought them in sight of the place. “That is Bright Farm.”