She was
also singing a new and strangely beautiful song.
"Lay me to sleep in sheltering flame, 0 Master of the Hidden Fire; Wash
pure my heart, and cleanse for me My soul's desire."
Unconscious of the intruder and forgetful of everything else the
singer's voice rose clearer and sweeter with the second verse.
"In flame of sunrise bathe my mind, 0 Master of the Hidden Fire, That
when I wake, clear-eyed may be My soul's desire."
Then in silence, as she leaned closer to the window to get a better
light on her sewing, an unexpected ray of sunshine managing at this
moment to break through the clouds fell directly on her bowed head. Her
hair was not auburn, like Betty's, but bright, undeniable red.
"That is a charming song and you have lovely voice, but would you mind
telling me who you are, where you have come from and how you happen to
be so at home in a room in our house?" Betty Ashton inquired, coolly,
still keeping her position just outside the opened door.
The stranger jumped instantly to her feet, letting fall some brown
embroidery silk and a number of bright-colored beads, then she stood
with her eyes fixed anxiously on the apparition before her, nervously
twisting her big, rather coarse-looking hands. She was a year older
than Betty Ashton and at the first glance it would have been difficult
to imagine two persons more unlike.
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