I hadn't worked ten minutes before the sewing-machine broke down. It
was one I had found in the house, a good machine, but a trifle out
of order: Mrs. Blinder said it had never been used since Emma
Saxon's death. I stopped to see what was wrong, and as I was working
at the machine a drawer which I had never been able to open slid
forward and a photograph fell out. I picked it up and sat looking at
it in a maze. It was a woman's likeness, and I knew I had seen the
face somewhere--the eyes had an asking look that I had felt on me
before. And suddenly I remembered the pale woman in the passage.
I stood up, cold all over, and ran out of the room. My heart seemed
to be thumping in the top of my head, and I felt as if I should
never get away from the look in those eyes. I went straight to Mrs.
Blinder. She was taking her afternoon nap, and sat up with a jump
when I came in.
"Mrs. Blinder," said I, "who is that?" And I held out the
photograph.
She rubbed her eyes and stared.
"Why, Emma Saxon," says she. "Where did you find it?"
I looked hard at her for a minute. "Mrs. Blinder," I said, "I've
seen that face before."
Mrs. Blinder got up and walked over to the looking-glass. "Dear me!
I must have been asleep," she says. "My front is all over one ear.
And now do run along, Miss Hartley, dear, for I hear the clock
striking four, and I must go down this very minute and put on the
Virginia ham for Mr. Brympton's dinner."
IV
TO all appearances, things went on as usual for a week or two.
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