As she sat thus, leaning upon the window-sill, there came up through the evening mist two figures, a lady and a child, moving onward softly like shadows gliding over the grass. Catharine held her breath and gazed upon them in silence. Were these the persons whom she had been unconsciously expecting? Who were they? And why did they creep so noiselessly across the sward? The lady was in mourning, not the heavy black which shrouds the person as in a midnight of despair; but her garments were of soft, pale gray, that floated around her like a mist, leaving her gentle face in relief, dim but beautiful. The child moved like a tropical bird beside his companion; his dress was of crimson, rich with the most delicate embroidery, that lay upon its borders like the plumage on the neck of a flamingo. The light was too dim for more than a general view of the strangers; but as they came slowly house ward, her heart beat fast, and she felt a sudden warmth mount into her cheek, as if something kindred and pleasant were stirring her spirit to its depths. Impelled by a sudden impulse, at once urgent and unaccountable, the young woman arose and went out upon the front door-steps, as one who receives an expected guest. The lady and the child paused,—they had not intended to enter the house, but, lured on by the quietness and lovely glimpses of scenery that surrounded it, they had been led unconsciously in front. “Look, look, mamma. See that beautiful lady! She is coming to speak with you; come!” As the child spoke, he drew eagerly upon the hand which led him; and Catharine, impelled by the same influence that had brought her to the door, descended the steps and met them. The lady smiled. “My little boy is so delighted with the fruit-trees and flowers, that I cannot keep him off your grounds,” she said, mistaking Catharine for the mistress of the house. “It is an intrusion, I fear?” Catharine did not answer. She was looking downward, with a sort of fascination, into the beautiful eyes of the boy, who neither smiled nor spoke, but returned her look so earnestly that his face grew sad, and he seemed ready to burst into tears. “We will retire at once!” said the lady, hurt by her silence; “I am sure it is an intrusion.” Catharine lifted her eyes from the child, and cast a wistful, inquiring glance upon the mother, as if the words of this excuse, so sweetly uttered, had fallen upon her ear, but not upon her sense. “He is yours!” she said, with a strange smile; “dear soul, he is yours!” Again her eyes were turned on the boy, who met them with a steady, earnest gaze, half tearful, half smiling. The young widow gave a troubled assent, and turning slowly, appeared about to retrace her steps.