“There they go!” said Lucy, who was peeping through the blinds; “the Don and Laura hand in hand, and Molly bringing up the rear. Ah, how the little thing is capering with delight! Ah, girls, run here and see how the little woman is strutting! Now he is pointing out to her a cow and calf.” And so, as long as they remained in sight, she chronicled their doings. As Lucy and I were leaving the house for our walk, some one suggested—it was Mary, I believe—that it would be as well to shadow, in detective phrase, the Don; but she firmly refused to do so, saying that she knew she could trust him. Still, the suggestion left its trail upon her mind; and she exhibited an eager delight when we, on our return, saw, at the distance of a couple of blocks, the Don taking leave of Laura in front of the Carters’. “I knew it,” said she, with modest triumph. “Mary has read so many novels and poems that she lives in constant expectation of adventures; as though an adventure could happen to any one in steady-going Richmond! Mr. Whacker!” she suddenly exclaimed, starting. “What’s the matter?” “He is coming this way! What _shall_ we do?” And she stood as though rooted to the pavement, helplessly looking about her for some avenue of escape. “Why, what do you fear?” said I, laughing. “That’s true,” said she; and she moved forward again, though with very uncertain tread. “Mr. Whacker,” said she, presently, “would you mind giving me your arm?” Meanwhile, the Don was coming up the street, and, as he approached us, I could see that his features were softened by a half smile. We met, face to face, at the corner above the Carters’. His eyes chancing to fall upon my face, it was obvious that he recognized me. Indeed, I am sure he gave me something like a bow, then glancing casually at Lucy. Just at this juncture she, for the first time, looked up, and their eyes met. It was then that I understood what Mary had said about his eyes. For a second his steps seemed almost arrested, and his eyes, filled with a strange mixture of curiosity and intense interest, seemed to dilate and to shoot forth actual gleams of light. Lucy, who was leaning heavily upon my arm, shivered throughout her entire frame. “Why, what can be the matter?” “I am sure I don’t know,” replied she, in a hollow voice. “Let us hurry home,—I can hardly breathe!” Arrived in front of the house, within which was to be heard the busy chattering of Laura and our other friends, Lucy hurried in at the gate, and, without attempting to enter the house, dropped down upon the first step she reached, and leaning back, drew a long breath.