Liddy had run out--to meet her sister as she thought--and her father, not unwilling now that the meeting was over to leave his wife alone with her son, followed her, with the intent of taking another look, as he said to himself, of _his_ pet, and making sure that he had really got her back. But Liddy, instead of running out to meet her sister, stood arrested in the doorway, watching the disembarkation from a rickety country coach of the strangest party that ever produced itself in the Fell-country. First came a little man with a high hat, a huge cloak with a faded lining of blue, which would have delighted a painter, flung over his shoulder, and a huge comforter round his neck; next a bundle of an old woman, wrapped in half-a-dozen shawls, one over the other, who rolled out of the quivering carriage, like something half benumbed and half asleep; lastly, a figure which sprang out as light as a bird, pushing aside both the companions who held out anxious hands to assist her, and flew along the little path between the two grass plats. Liddy clasped her hands together in wonder and dismay. “Mrs. Harry!” she cried, with consternation. She was so much surprised that she made no step to meet her; but stood transfixed, her face pale with astonishment. Rita was all aglow with pleasure, and excitement, and triumph. She flung herself upon Lydia as if she had been her dearest friend in the world. “Look, I have done it!” she cried. “I am better than ever I was in my life. I am so happy. I like the cold. I like the country; I think it is beautiful! Call this England? it is Paradise! Oh, Liddy, Liddy, you dear little sister, I shall be as fond of you as Harry is--fonder, for he has me first to think of. I owe all this to you.” “Mrs. Harry!” Liddy repeated, with consternation. “Father, this is Mrs. Harry; if you were coming, why did you not come with us?” She could think of nothing that was kinder to say. But Rita was too much delighted with herself to stand in need of words of kindness. She walked up to Ralph Joscelyn, and stretched up to him, offering her pretty glowing cheek to be kissed. “How do you do, father?” she said. “Harry ought to present me to you, but I don’t want any introduction. You are like him; our little boy is called Ralph, after you. Harry will be dreadfully angry when he sees me, and I dare not think what papa will say; but I am so happy to be in England that I don’t mind. Will you take me in, please, to where my husband is?” and with the air of a little princess Rita took her father-in-law’s arm. He was a stately, handsome old man, with his white hair. The eyes of the new-comer found no fault in him. The roughness which wounded his children was invisible to her. “He is almost as handsome as papa,” she said to herself.