But lovely as the young mother was, you would scarcely have looked at her a second time while she held that child by her hand--so marvelous was the fascination of that little creature's countenance. It was a face to attract, to charm, to delight, to draw you in, and rivet your whole attention, until you became absorbed and lost in the study of its mysterious spell--a witching face, whose nameless charm it were impossible to tell, I might describe the fine dark Jewish features, the glorious eyes, the brilliant complexion, and the fall of long, glossy, black ringlets that veiled the proud little head; but the spell lay not in them, any more than in the perfect symmetry of her form, or the harmonious grace of her motion, or the melodious intonations of her voice. Edith, still leading the little girl, advanced to Marian's side, where the latter stood at the yard gate. "I heard a scream, Marian, dear--what was it?" Marian pointed to the old elm tree outside the cottage fence, under the shade of which stood the poor stroller, pressing her side, and panting for breath. "Edith, do you see that young woman? She it was." "Good heaven!" exclaimed Edith, turning a shade paler, and beginning, with trembling fingers, to unfasten the gate. "Why, do you know her, Edith?" "Yes! yes! My soul, it is Fanny Laurie! I thought she was in some asylum at the North!" said Edith, passing the gate, and going up to the wanderer. "Fanny! Fanny! Dearest Fanny!" she said, taking her thin hand, and looking in her crazed eyes and lastly, putting both arms around her neck and kissing her. "Do you kiss me?" asked the poor creature, in amazement. "Yes, dear Fanny! Don't you know me?" "Yes, yes, you are--I know you--you are--let's see, now--" "Edith Lance, you know--your old playmate!" "Ah! yes, I know--you had another name." "Edith Shields, since I was married, but I am widowed now, Fanny." "Yes, I know--Fanny has heard them talk!" She swept her hands across her brow several times, as if to clear her mental vision, and gazing upon Edith, said: "Ah! old playmate! Did the palms lie? The ravaged tome, the blood-stained hearth, and the burning roof for me--the fated nuptials, the murdered bridegroom, and the fatherless child for you. Did the palms lie, Edith? You were ever incredulous! Answer, did the palms lie?" "The prediction was partly fulfilled, as it was very likely to be at the time our neighborhood was overrun by a ruthless foe. It happened so, poor Fanny! You did not know the future, any more than I did--no one on earth knows the mysteries of the future, 'not the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only.'" This seemed to annoy the poor creature--soothsaying, by palmistry, had been her weakness in her brighter days, and now the strange propensity clung to her through the dark night of her sorrows, and received strength from her insanity. "Come in, dear Fanny," said Edith, "come in and stay with us."