Impelled by a sudden impulse, at once urgent and unaccountable, the young woman arose and went out upon the front door-steps, as one who receives an expected guest.
The lady and the child paused,—they had not intended to enter the house, but, lured on by the quietness and lovely glimpses of scenery that surrounded it, they had been led unconsciously in front.
“Look, look, mamma. See that beautiful lady! She is coming to speak with you; come!”
As the child spoke, he drew eagerly upon the hand which led him; and Catharine, impelled by the same influence that had brought her to the door, descended the steps and met them.
The lady smiled.
“My little boy is so delighted with the fruit-trees and flowers, that I cannot keep him off your grounds,” she said, mistaking Catharine for the mistress of the house. “It is an intrusion, I fear?”
Catharine did not answer. She was looking downward, with a sort of fascination, into the beautiful eyes of the boy, who neither smiled nor spoke, but returned her look so earnestly that his face grew sad, and he seemed ready to burst into tears.
“We will retire at once!” said the lady, hurt by her silence; “I am sure it is an intrusion.”
Catharine lifted her eyes from the child, and cast a wistful, inquiring glance upon the mother, as if the words of this excuse, so sweetly uttered, had fallen upon her ear, but not upon her sense.
“He is yours!” she said, with a strange smile; “dear soul, he is yours!”