The evening was calm, fresh, and dry: the heavens were covered with stars; and objects were visible at a considerable distance.
A few minutes before the wished-for hour, Katherine, Ellen, and the farmer reached the hill at the foot of which was the place of appointment.
Then Kate left them and proceeded alone, while her two friends hastened by a circuitous route to gain a clump of trees which would enable them to remain concealed within a distance of fifty yards of the spot where Kate was to meet the old woman.
The young girl pursued her way—her heart palpitating with varied emotions,—vague alarm, exalted hope, and all the re-awakened convictions of her orphan state.
She reached the foot of the hill, and in a few minutes beheld a human form emerging, as it were, from the obscurity at a distance—the dim outline gradually defining itself into a positive shape, and at length showing the figure of the old woman whom she had seen in the morning.
"You have done well to obey my summons, Miss," said the hag, as she approached the timid and trembling girl. "But let me look well on your countenance—let me be satisfied that it is indeed Katherine Wilmot."
Then Kate turned towards the moon, and parted the light chesnut hair: which clustered around her countenance; so that a pure flood of silvery lustre streamed on all the features of that sweetly interesting face—a sight too hallowed for the foul-souled harridan to gaze upon!
It was as if the veil of the Holy of Holies, in the Jewish temple, were lifted before some being fresh from the grossest pollutions of the world.
"Yes—I am satisfied!" murmured the hag. "You are Katherine Wilmot—the Katherine whom I saw and recognised this morning. I feared lest your artful friend, Ellen Monroe, less timid than yourself, might have come to play your part."
"Wherefore should you speak ill of Miss Monroe?" inquired Katherine, mildly. "Malicious allusions to my friends will not serve as a passport to my confidence."