They conversed in a low tone, for Lester sat by the hearth in which a wood fire had been just kindled, and appeared to have fallen into an afternoon slumber. The sun was sinking to repose, and the whole landscape lay before them bathed in light, till a cloud passing overhead, darkened the heavens just immediately above them, and one of those beautiful sun showers, that rather characterize the spring than autumn, began to fall; the rain was rather sharp, and descended with a pleasant and freshening noise through the boughs, all shining in the sun light; it did not, however, last long, and presently there sprang up the glorious rainbow, and the voices of the birds, which a minute before were mute, burst into a general chorus, the last hymn of the declining day. The sparkling drops fell fast and gratefully from the trees, and over the whole scene there breathed an inexpressible sense of gladness-- “The odour and the harmony of eve.” “How beautiful!” said Ellinor, pausing from her work--“Ah, see the squirrel, is that our pet one? he is coming close to the window, poor fellow! Stay, I will get him some bread.” “Hush!” said Madeline, half rising, and turning quite pale, “Do you hear a step without?” “Only the dripping of the boughs,” answered Ellinor. “No--no--it is he--it is he!” cried Madeline, the blood rushing back vividly to her cheeks, “I know his step!” And--yes--winding round the house till he stood opposite the window, the sisters now beheld Eugene Aram; the diamond rain glittered on the locks of his long hair; his cheeks were flushed by exercise, or more probably the joy of return; a smile, in which there was no shade or sadness, played over his features, which caught also a fictitious semblance of gladness from the rays of the setting sun which fell full upon them. “My Madeline, my love, my Madeline!” broke from his lips. “You are returned--thank God--thank God--safe--well?” “And happy!” added Aram, with a deep meaning in the tone of his voice. “Hey day, hey day!” cried the Squire, starting up, “what’s this? bless me, Eugene!--wet through too, seemingly! Nell, run and open the door--more wood on the fire--the pheasants for supper--and stay, girl, stay--there’s the key of the cellar--the twenty-one port--you know it. Ah! ah! God willing, Eugene Aram shall not complain of his welcome back to Grassdale!” CHAPTER VIII. AFFECTION: ITS GODLIKE NATURE.--THE CONVERSATION BETWEEN ARAM AND MADELINE.--THE FATALIST FORGETS FATE. Hope is a lover’s staff; walk hence with that, And manage it against despairing thoughts. --Two Gentlemen of Verona.