Yet they are cheered, in spite of themselves, when Agnes and her little companions come in, dazzled, out of the darkness; and Lettie volunteers a confession of some fear as they came along that dark road, close to the Lady’s Well. Silence is not congenial to Agnes, and the baby cries loudly in the nursery; and little Harry, very sleepy, rouses himself up to devour cakes, and swallow as much tea as is permitted. So the night passes away; but a hundred times they fancy they hear Harry’s summons at the outer-door; and almost believe, with a thrill between hope and fear, that he has come home. The days pass, and grow into weeks, and still they sit all the long evening through, and again and again fancy they hear the sound of his return, and hold their breath in eager listening. A few letters, containing long lists of things he has seen, come to them tardily; but they never think of Harry, in his extreme occupation, carrying these letters about with him for a day or two, before he recollects to send them away. The farm-manager comes now and then, anxious to see Allenders; for now the frost has broken up, and a genial dry season has succeeded it, and the cautious Armstrong is slow to do anything without his employer’s approval. Some fertile, well-cultivated land, for a lease of which Harry was bargaining with Sir John Dunlop’s factor, as a profitable addition to his own farm, has been secured by another applicant during Harry’s absence; and the mason who contracted for Harry’s new byres and stables, after a long delay by the frost, now refuses to go on, till he has received one of the payments to which he is entitled. But no answer comes to the letters in which these matters are spoken of--his short notes only speak of sights and constant occupation, and he never says when he is to return. The cold, mild, early February comes in quietly; and the nightly rains patter upon the trees, and swell the burn to hoarseness, and plash in the swollen river. In the morning, when the feeble sunshine falls dimly upon the lawn, and its flower borders, Violet and Katie rejoice over, here and there, a golden or purple crocus, and eagerly point out the buds swelling on the trees; but at night it is always rain, striking on the bare branches, and filling the whole air with a sound of mysterious footsteps passing to and fro around the lonely house. And within the house they all grow very still--they all listen for Harry’s step, for Harry’s call; and their hearts tremble, and their frames shiver, as every night they think he will return.