As she sat thus absorbed in her book, the gate opened, and an old man came up the garden-walk. She lifted her head and looked out, but her glasses were on, and she could only see some figure moving through the flowers with dreamy indistinctness. Then she heard the door open, and a step in the hall—a step that made her heart leap till the muslin stirred like snow on her bosom. Who could it be? Not one of the boys, the step was too heavy for that; perhaps, that is, possibly, it might be young Savage, coming to explain conduct that she much feared was breaking poor Anna’s heart. The possibility that it might be him kept her still. After neglecting them so long, she would not compromise Anna’s pride, by appearing eager to meet him; so she sat, with book in hand, gazing wistfully at the door through her spectacles. The door opened slowly, and old Mr. Gould stood on the threshold, where he paused a moment gazing on her. The old woman answered the gaze with a half-frightened look through her spectacles, then drew them slowly off, as if that could help her vision, and stood up. “Mary!” said the old man, coming toward her. “Mary!” The old woman sat down again, helpless and trembling. “Mary, will you not speak to me?” “Yes, James, yes. I—I wish to speak, but—but I cannot.” “And why, Mary? What have I done? What did I ever do that should make you hate and avoid me so?” “Hate! I never hated you, James. At the worst, I never hated you!” “But you left me—hid yourself; kept my son from me all his life. How could you find the heart to do that?” The old lady sat upright in her chair; a faint red came into her face—she trembled from head to foot. “You speak as if I had done wrong, James; as if you were an innocent man.” “I speak as I feel, Mary—as I am. What fault had I committed which warranted the separation of a lifetime?” He questioned her almost sternly; but there was a quiver of wounded tenderness in his voice which made that gentle old bosom swell with gathering tears. “Was it nothing,” she said, faltering, in spite of herself, “that you left me and married another woman?” “Mary Gould, are you a sane woman?” “I saw her with my own eyes; heard her speak; watched her when she read your letters. Nothing short of that would have driven me from you.” “You saw all this? When—how?”