Finally, toward sunset, foreseeing an unusual amount of sky-splendor, she had gone forth for a brief enjoyment of it to her old, favorite haunt,—the oak glade which Bergan had also discovered and taken into favor. Meeting the young man there, she had instantly recognized him,—by reason of Nix's suggestive companionship, and her mother's recent description,—and had taken an innocent pleasure in subjecting him to a transient mystification.
"She gave us such a surprise," went on Cathie, joyously. "Mamma almost fainted, and I—guess what I did, Mr. Arling."
To please her, Bergan guessed what he supposed to be the most unlikely thing; and so, in consequence of the child's peculiar character, he guessed right.
"Doubtless, you cried," said he.
"So I did," replied Cathie, opening her eyes wide, "though I can't see how you knew it. But I thought I was laughing, all the time, till Astra asked me why I was so sorry to see her, and offered to go away again if the sight of her was so painful!' And that made me laugh, in good earnest! And oh! Mr. Arling, do come and see her little white boy! She has just been unpacking him, to show him to mamma."
"Willingly," replied Bergan, "if you are sure that she would like me to see him."
"I'll ask her," replied Cathie, darting through the open doorway at the left, whence came the broad beam of light aforementioned, and through which Bergan caught a glimpse of Mrs. Lyte's black-draped figure, seated at the farther corner of the room, in an attitude of pleased contemplation of some object not within his range of vision.
The next moment, Miss Lyte herself appeared on the threshold, and, seeing by his face that his mystification was over, she frankly held out her hand to him.
"So you have found me out!" said she, laughing. "Was it wicked in me not to answer that look in your eyes, which said so plainly, 'Who on earth can she be?' Can you pardon my selfish enjoyment of your perplexity?"
"A perplexity that ends so pleasantly deserves thanks rather than pardon," returned Bergan.