Shadows numberless are lying in misty corners; the daylight lingers yet, as though loath to quit us and sink into eternal night. It is an eve of "holiest mood," full of tranquillity and absolute calm.
"It is that hour of quiet ecstasy,
When every rustling wind that passes by
The sleeping leaf makes busiest minstrelsy."
"You are silent, Priscilla," says Miss Penelope, glancing at her.
"I am thinking. Such an eve as this always recalls Katherine; and yesterday that meeting,—all has helped to bring the past most vividly before me."
"Ah, dear, yes," says Miss Penelope, regarding her with a furtive but tender glance. "How must he have felt, when he thought what grief he brought to her young life!"
"You are talking of mother?" asks Kit, suddenly, letting her large dark eyes rest on Miss Penelope's face, as though searching for latent madness there.
"He would not have dared so to treat her had her father been alive or had we been blessed with a brother," says Miss Priscilla, sternly. "He proved himself a dastard and a coward."
"Perhaps there was some mistake," says Monica, timidly, plucking a pale blossom and pretending to admire it.
"No, no. We believe he contracted an affection for some other girl, and for her sake jilted your mother. If so, retribution fit and proper followed on his perfidy, because he brought no wife later on to grace his home. Doubtless he was betrayed in his turn. That was only just."