This somebody turns out to be Verty; and the young man's face blushes with delight at sight of Redbud, whom he runs to, and devours with his glances. Redbud blushes slightly; but this passes soon, and the kind eyes beam on him softly--no confusion in them now--and the small hand is not drawn away from him, but remains in his own. And Fanny--amiable Fanny--knowing all about it, smiles; and Miss Lavinia, staidest of her sex, suspecting something of it, looks grave and dignified, but does not frown; and Verty, with perfect forgetfulness of the presence of these persons, and much carelessness in regard to their opinions, gazes upon Redbud with his dreamy smile, and talks to her. So the day passes onward, and the shades of evening take away the merry voices--the bright sunset shining on them as they go. They must come again without waiting for her to return their visit--says Redbud smiling--and the happy laughter which replies to her, makes Apple Orchard chuckle through its farthest chambers, and the portraits on the wall--bright now in vagrant gleams of crimson sundown--utter a low, well-bred cachinnation, such as is befitting in the solemn, dignified old cavaliers and ladies, looking from their laces, and hair-powder, and stiff ruffs, upon their little grandchild. So the merry voices become faint, and the bright sunset slowly wanes away, a rosy flush upon the splendid sky, dragging another day of work or idleness, despair or joy, into oblivion! Redbud lies and gazes at the noble woods, bathed in that rosy flush and smiles. Then her eyes turn toward a portrait settling into shadow, but lit up with one bright beam--and the dear mother's eyes shine on her with a tender light, and bless her. And she clasps her hands, and her lips murmur something, and her eyes turn to the western sky again. And evening slowly goes away, leaving the beautiful pure face with evident regret, but lighting up the kind blue eyes, and golden hair, and delicate cheek, with a last vagrant gleam. So the dim cheerful night came down--the day was dead. CHAPTER XLV. HOURS IN THE OCTOBER WOODS. In a week Redbud was going about again: slowly, it is true, and taking care not to fatigue herself, but still she was no longer confined to the house. She rose one morning, and came down with a face full of happy expectation. That day had been appointed for a holiday in the woods, and Fanny, Verty and Ralph were coming. Soon they came.