The next morning, when they were assembled at their frugal breakfast, Seymore said, "I fear you thought, from the frequent ink-spots on my little garret, that, like Luther, I had thrown my ink-bottle at the devil whenever he appeared." "I hope," said Edith, "you have not thrown away all its contents; for I had some charming fancies last night, inspired, I believe, by that very ink-bottle." Seymore blushed; but he did not look displeased, and Edith was satisfied. The next morning was clear and balmy, and, soon after breakfast, they mounted their horses for their return. There are few things more exhilarating than riding through woods on a clear autumnal morning; but Edith felt no longer the wild gayety of the previous morning. With a thoughtful countenance, she rode silently by her father's side when the path would permit, or followed quietly when it was too narrow. "You seem to have found food for thought in the student's garret, my dear," said her father. Edith blushed slightly, but did not answer. They had accomplished about half their journey, when Mr. Grafton proposed turning off from the direct path to visit an old lady,--a friend of Edith's mother, an emigrant of a noble family from the mother country. Edith followed silently, wondering she had never heard her father mention this friend of her mother before. They soon after emerged from the forest upon open fields, cleared and cultivated with unusual care. A beautiful brook ran winding in the midst, and the whole domain was enclosed in strong fences of stone. About midway was built a low, irregular, but very large farmhouse. It consisted of smaller buildings, connected by very strong palisades; and the whole was enclosed, at some distance, by a fence built of strong timbers. It was evidently a dwelling designed for defence against Indians. They entered the enclosure by an iron gate, so highly wrought and finished that it must have been imported from the mother country. Edith found herself in a large garden, that had once been cultivated with much care and expense. It had been filled with rose-bushes, honeysuckles, and choice English flowers; but all was now in a state of neglect and decay. The walks were overrun with weeds, the arbors in ruins, and the tendrils of the vines wandering at their own wanton will. It seemed as if neglect had aided the autumn frost to cover this favorite spot with the garb of mourning.