Not a house to be seen, save on the far slopes of distant hills--not a sound, but the chink of the stone-chat, or the fall of lonely water. Soon the road, after its long ascent, began to dip; a few trees appeared in a hollow, then a gate and some grey walls. Laura jumped from the cart. Beyond the gate, the road turned downward a little, and a great block of barns shut the farmhouse from view till she was actually upon it. But there it was at last--the grey, roughly built house, that she still vaguely remembered, with the whitewashed porch, the stables and cowsheds opposite, the little garden to the side, the steep fell behind. She stood with her hand on the pony, looking at the house in some perplexity. Not a soul apparently had heard her coming. Nothing moved in the farmhouse or outside it. Was everybody at church? But it was nearly one o'clock. The door under the deep porch had no knocker, and she looked in vain for a bell. All she could do was to rap sharply with the handle of her whip. No answer. She rapped again--louder and louder. At last in the intervals of knocking, she became conscious of a sound within--something deep and continuous, like the buzzing of a gigantic bee. She put her ear to the door, listening. Then all her face dissolved in laughter. She raised her arm and brought the whip-handle down noisily on the old blistered door, so that it shook again. "Hullo!" There was a sudden sound of chairs overturned, or dragged along a flagged floor. Then staggering steps--and the door was opened. "I say--what's all this--what are you making such a damned noise for?" Inside stood a stalwart young man, still half asleep, and drawing his hand irritably across his blinking eyes. "How do you do, Mr. Mason?" The young man drew himself together with a start. Suddenly he perceived that the young girl standing in the shade of the porch was not his sister, but a stranger. He looked at her with astonishment,--at the elegance of her dress, and the neatness of her small gloved hand. "I beg your pardon, Miss, I'm sure! Did you want anything?" The visitor laughed. "Yes, I want a good deal! I came up to see my cousins--you're my cousin--though of course you don't remember me. I thought--perhaps--you'd ask me to dinner." The young man's yawns ceased. He stared with all his eyes, instinctively putting his hair and collar straight. "Well, I'm afraid I don't know who you are, Miss," he said at last, putting out his hand in perplexity to meet hers. "Will you walk in?" "Not before you know who I am!"--said Laura, still laughing--"I'm Laura Fountain. Now do you know?" "What--Stephen Fountain's daughter--as married Miss Helbeck?" said the young man in wonder. His face, which had been at first vague and heavy with sleep, began to recover its natural expression.