The house, which they entered, was a graceful contrast to the one they had left. Verandas of light iron work ran around one wing and across the front; passion-flowers and other rare hot-house vines crept in and out through this network, like colored embroidery on a lace ground: the whole dwelling was light, cool, and exceedingly pleasant. The fragrance of cape jessamines and heliotrope stole out through this tangled veil of flowers; and hid away among the vines were cages full of singing-birds, sending out gushes of song to greet the early morning. The old gentleman did not notice these things, but placed the child gently upon his feet in the veranda, and turned away. His heart was full of apprehension regarding his daughter. The half-subdued madness had returned upon her, their old enemy had appeared again. The fear of long, long years was entirely broken up. Why should that wily serpent have crept into his Eden a second time? Filled with these thoughts, the old man bade his neighbor a gentle good morning and went away. Mrs. Oakley entered her dwelling, weary, and filled with a vague terror by the scene she had witnessed. The night’s watch had left her garments in disarray. The dark-brown hair was partly unbraided, and fell in waves half-way to her shoulders; her bonnet was pushed back, and her pale face stained with tears. A small breakfast-room opened upon the veranda, its French windows clouded with lace, and its adornments cool and simple. A breakfast-table had been spread in expectation of her coming, and with its service of pure white china and frosted silver stood before these misty windows, through which a network of vines and blossoms was softly visible. A person, who sat in this room, saw Mrs. Oakley as she entered, and arose as if to go forth and meet her. But a glance at her pale face checked him, and seating himself, he saw her pass to her chamber. The gentleman sat alone some time, dreamily watching the humming-birds, as they flashed in and out through the blooming screen of flowers, shaking the dew in glittering drops upon the sunshine, and humming softly to the bells they robbed of honey. A smile was upon the stranger’s lips. He seemed waiting in tranquil mood for some anticipated joy. At last Mrs. Oakley came in, leading her boy by the hand. A robe of spotted muslin had displaced her half-mourning dress, lilac ribbons knotted it together down the front and brightened the folds upon her bosom. Her beautiful tresses lay coiled in one heavy braid around her head. Nothing could have been more simple than her appearance. But her face was pale, and a look of fatigue hung upon it. She evidently expected to find the breakfast-room empty, and entered it with downcast eyes. An exclamation from the child, and a joyful leap forward, made her look up. A wave of crimson rushed over her face; she smiled half gladly, half shyly, and held out her hand. “When did you come? Have you waited long?” she said.