A small stream running over a rocky, broken bed formed the boundary of the little grounds, and over this a bridge of a single plank conducted the way to the cottage. The whole was simple and unpretending; there was none of that smart trimness which gives to such scenes the air of an imitation. The lawn, it is true, was neatly shaven, and the flower-plots, which broke its uniformity, clean from weeds; but the flowers were of the simplest kind,--the crocus and the daffodil had to stand no dangerous rivalry, and the hyacinth had nothing to vie with. Kate loitered for some time here, now gazing at the wild, stern landscape, now listening to the brawling rivulet, whose sounds were the only ones in the stillness. As she drew nigh the cottage, she found the windows of a little drawing-room open. She looked in: all was comfortable and neat-looking, but of the strictest simplicity. She next turned to the little porch, and pulled the bell; in a few seconds the sounds of feet were heard approaching, and a very old woman, whose appearance and dress were the perfection of neatness, appeared. “Don't you know me, Mrs. Broon?” said Kate, gently. “I do not, then, my Lady,” said she, respectfully, “for my eyes is gettin' dimmer every day.” “I 'm Kate Henderson, Mrs. Broon. Do you forget me?” “Indeed I do not,” said Catty, gravely. “You were here with the master and my Lady?” “Yes. I went away with them to Germany; but I have come home for a while, and wish to pay my respects to Miss Mary.” “She isn't at home to-day,” was the dry response. “But she will return soon, I conclude. She'll be back some time in the evening, won't she?” “If she plazes it, she will. There's nobody to control or make her do but what she likes herself,” said Catty. “I ask,” said Kate, “because I'm a little tired. I've come off a long journey, and if you'd allow me to rest myself, and wait awhile in the hope of seeing Miss Martin, I'd be very thankful.” “Come in, then,” said Catty; but the faint sigh with which the words were uttered, gave but a scant significance of welcome. Kate followed her into the little drawing-room, and at a sign from the old woman, took a seat. “Miss Mary is quite well, I'm glad to hear,” said Kate, endeavoring to introduce some conversation. “Will they ever come back?” asked the old woman, in a stern, harsh voice, while she paid no attention whatever to Kate's remark. “It is very unlikely,” said Kate. “Your poor master had not long to live when I came away. He was sinking rapidly.” “So I heard,” muttered the other, dryly; “the last letter from Mr. Repton said 'he was n't expected.'” “I fear it will be a great shock to Miss Mary,” said Kate. The old woman nodded her head slowly several times without speaking. “And, perhaps, cause great changes here?” continued Kate.