"The Lord knows! She doesn't do any thing but sit there, as quiet as can be. It's a bad symptom, to my thinking. 'Still waters run deep.' They're a-dreading the hour when they'll have to remove the body from the house--they're afraid her mind 'll go." "No, no," I answered, inwardly shuddering; "Eleanor's reason is too fine and powerful to be unstrung, even by a blow like this." "Who was that went out the gate as I came around the bend? Was it that girl, again?" "Do you mean Leesy Sullivan?" "Yes, sir. Do you know her? She acts mighty queer, to my thinkin'. She was out here Saturday, sittin' in the summer-house, all alone, 'till the rain began to fall--I guess she got a good soaking going home. I didn't think much about her; it was Saturday, and I thought likely she was taking a holiday, and there's many people like to come here, it's so pleasant. But what's brought her here again to-day is more'n I can guess. Do you know, sir?" "I do not. I found her sitting on the portico looking at the river. Maybe she comes out for a walk and stops here to rest. She probably feels somewhat at home, she has sewed so much in the family. I don't know her at all, myself; I never spoke to her until just now. Did you get much acquainted with her, when she was in the house?" "I never spoke to her above a dozen times. I wasn't at the house much, and she was always at work. She seemed fast with her needle, and a girl who minded her own business. I thought she was rather proud, for a seamstress--she was handsome, and I reckon she knew it. She's getting thinner; she had red spots on her cheeks, Saturday, that I didn't like--looked consumptive." "Did the family treat her with particular kindness?" It was as near as I cared to put into words what I was thinking of. "You know it's in the whole Moreland race to be generous and kind to those under them. I've known Henry more than once, when the family was going out for a drive, to insist upon Miss Sullivan's taking a seat in the carriage--but never when he was going alone. I heard him tell his mother that the poor girl looked tired, as if she needed a breath of air and a bit of freedom, and the kind-hearted lady would laugh at her son, but do as he said. It was just like him. But I'd stake my everlasting futur' that he never took any advantage of her feelings, if it's that you're thinking of, Mr. Redfield." "So would I, Mrs. Scott. There is no one can have a higher respect for the character of that noble young gentleman, than I. I would resent an insult to his memory more quickly than if he had been my brother. But, as you say, there is something queer in the actions of Miss Sullivan. I know that I can trust your discretion, Mrs. Scott, for I have heard it well spoken of; do not say any thing to others, not even to your husband, but keep a watch on that person if she should come here any more. Report to me what she does, and what spot she frequents."