The path to the house was plainly
marked, and led us along the face of a little hill to a jutting point,
where it seemed to make an abrupt turn upward. As we rounded this point,
we saw on a rocky ledge not far ahead of us a lady dressed in white. She
was standing on the ledge, looking out over the water, and apparently
very much engaged with her own thoughts, for she had not yet perceived
our approach.
At the first glance I saw that the figure before us was not the Sand
Lady. This was a tall and graceful woman, carrying no weight of years.
She held her hat in her hand, and her dark hair was slightly blown back
from a face which, seen in profile against the clear blue sky, appeared
to me to be perfect in its outline. We stopped involuntarily, and at
that moment she turned toward us. Her face was one of noble beauty, with
great dark eyes, and a complexion of that fine glow which comes to women
who are not quite brunettes.
Walkirk started, and seized my arm. "Good heavens," he whispered, "it is
Mother Anastasia!"
As we now advanced toward the lady, I could scarcely believe what I had
heard; certainly I could not comprehend it. Here was one of the most
beautiful women I had ever beheld, dressed in a robe of soft white
flannel, which, though simple, was tasteful and elegant.
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