"But what have you been doing to yourself? You are not the Pierce that went away. Have you been ill, Pierce?" He stooped and kissed me and laughed. "Five years make a difference in a man's looks, little woman;" and then he coughed a hard dry cough, which seemed to be tearing through flesh and bone. "And how are they all? How is Aline? And you and Essie, and the twins, and the boys, and Freda?" He pushed the soft hat off his head, drew a long breath, and looked all around him. Five years! Ah! it might have been twenty-five, so great was the difference. This was not our Pierce, this hollow-eyed, gaunt-cheeked, white-lipped stranger. He looked taller too by a head, but that might have been because he was very thin. "Dear Heaven!" he said, "how sweet it is to be at home! How often I have longed for a sight of old Brandon there, and to smell these delicious woods!" He patted my hand, which he still held, softly. "Come along, little girl, let us get home. I've been ill, and am ordered to be out only in the sun. How fortunate that you should have been mooning down here! I didn't want to go in on Aline suddenly, with this sick man's face." So he did know that he was looking very ill. What matter? Home air and tender nursing and good feeding would soon make him the old Pierce again. He would have taken up his bag, but I pushed away his hand from it. "One of the boys will run down for it," said I. "It is as safe till they fetch it as the Bank of Ireland." There was still no sign of Esther, and we walked on towards the house. We met no one to be surprised at my return with a stranger's arm about me. Poor Pierce! Being so near me, I could hear the painful catching of his breath as he walked, and now and again he had to pause to recover himself. The hall-door stood open as usual, and I brought him into the drawing-room, which was unoccupied, and to a comfortable chair. He sank into it without a word, but a quivering sigh told me how delicious its restfulness was. "Now rest," said I, "and I will fetch Aline." "You will tell her, little Hilda?" "Yes; I will tell her that you have been ill, and have come home to be made well." But all the way upstairs Oona's story of the banshee would haunt me, though I put out two hands to drive it away. I found Aline writing labels for the rhubarb and parsnip wine Oona was making. She looked up at me with a questioning smile, and I noticed that she was not looking well. I sat down on the arm of the chair and kissed her ear. "What is it?" she said. "Have you had a nice walk, and found Essie as you expected?" "I didn't wait for her. I--I found news." Her eyes opened wide and startled. "News!" she repeated after me. "Of Pierce? It could only be of Pierce. What news, Hilda? Not bad news?" "Good news, darling." "Oh, Hilda, he is coming home! I know by your face. Tell me. Oh ... he is come!"