t the
tide was in, and I must be careful not to go too near the river wall, I
went out through the tall glass door, and slowly down the wide
garden-walk, from which now and then narrower walks branched off at
right angles. It was the pride of the place, this garden; and the
box-borders especially were kept with great care. They had partly been
trimmed that day; and the evening dampness brought out the faint,
solemn odour of the leaves, which I never have noticed since without
thinking of that night. The roses were in bloom, and the snow-ball
bushes were startlingly white, and there was a long border filled with
lilies-of-the-valley. The other flowers of the season, were all there
and in blossom; yet I could see none well but the white ones, which
looked like bits of snow and ice in the summer shadows,--ghostly
flowers which one could see at night.

It was still in the garden, except once I heard a bird twitter
sleepily, and once or twice a breeze came across the river, rustling
the leaves a little. The small-paned windows glistened in the
moonlight, and seemed like the eyes of the house watching me, the
unknown new-comer.

For a while I wandered about, exploring the different paths, some of
which were arched over by the tall lilacs, or by arbors where the
grape-leaves did not seem fully grown. I wondered if my mother would
miss me. It seemed impossible that I should have seen her only that
morning; and suddenly I had a consciousness that she was thinking of
me, and she seemed so close to me, that it would not be strange if she
could hear what I said. And I called her twice softly; but the sound
of my unanswered voice frightened me. I saw some round white flowers
at my feet, looking up mockingly. The smell of the earth and the new
grass seemed to smother me. I was afraid to be there all alone in the
wide open air; and all the tall bushes that were so still around me
took strange shapes, and seemed to be alive. I was so terribly far
away from the mother whom I had called; the pleasure of my journey, and
my coming to cousin Agnes, faded from my mind, and that indescribable
feeling of hopelessness and dread, and of having made an irreparable
mistake, came in its place. The thorns of a straying slender branch of
a rose bush caught my sleeve maliciously as I turned to hurry away, and
then I caught sight of a person in the path just before me. It was
such a relief to see some one, that I was not frightened when