It was a commonplace welcome in words; but her voice grew sweet with suppressed tenderness, as she uttered it. “I have been waiting and dreaming here this half hour,” answered her guest, taking Eddie in his arms; “I did not expect to find you from home so early.” “Oh, it was Eddie’s fault, he ran away and was lost all night.” “Lost! how? Where did you find him?” There was no reason why the young widow should not have answered this question. But there was a feeling of sadness connected with the scenes she had witnessed that night, which checked her, and she merely replied that a neighbor had found the boy and taken him home. “And oh,” interposed Eddie, “she was such a tall, black lady, with eyes all fire, and such hot lips.” “You did not like her then, my little man?” inquired the visitor. “Yes, I did. She loved me, oh, so much. You don’t know how hard she kissed me, and hugged me till it stopped my breath. “I don’t wonder,” replied the stranger. “Who could help loving you dearly?” and his fine face flushed crimson, as he pressed a kiss on the rosy mouth of the child. “Come,” said Mrs. Oakley, blushing also, but smiling amid the pleasant confusion. “We shall all have an appetite for breakfast.” And with the timid bashfulness of a girl, she sat down to do the honors of her new home to one whose gaze she had learned to tremble under. CHAPTER LI. OUT IN THE STORM. Why did that miserable woman prowl, so cat-like and stealthily, around those two houses? What motive could have brought her so far from home, a second Satan, to poison and blast the Eden of peace and charity those two aged people had gathered around them? What had they ever done, that she should persecute them so ruthlessly with her presence? They knew her, that was certain, for Catharine, even beyond her own shuddering fear, had noticed that their limbs trembled beneath them as she approached, and that a deadly fear burned in their eyes and spoke in every line of their gentle faces. Elsie too. The very sight of this evil woman had driven her into fierce insanity again. Why was this? Had they known her before? If so, how and where? The portrait of her husband,—was that, too, a mysterious link between these old people, so opposite in character, so unlikely to hold anything in common? How was she connected with them all? These conjectures kept Catharine awake half the night, while poor Elsie moaned and muttered in her sleep, or started up with wild cries, calling upon God to drive her enemies forth and not let them torment her forever!