some
one out of the fullness of her heart. She overtook, her step being far
lighter than his, one of the men going home from his work, and spoke to
him, telling him with a smile not to be afraid; but he never so much as
raised his head, and went plodding on with his heavy step, not knowing
that she had spoken to him. She was startled by this; but said to
herself, that the men were dull, that their perceptions were confused,
and that it was getting dark; and went on, passing him quickly. His
breath made a cloud in the air as he walked, and his heavy plodding steps
sounded into the frosty night. She perceived that her own were invisible
and inaudible, with a curious momentary sensation, half of pleasure, half
of pain. She felt no cold, and she saw through the twilight as clearly as
if it had been day. There was no fatigue or sense of weakness in her; but
she had the strange, wistful feeling of an exile returning after long
years, not knowing how he may find those he had left. At one of the first
houses in the village there was a woman standing at her door, looking out
for her children; one who knew Lady Mary well. She stopped quite
cheerfully to bid her good evening, as she had done in her vigorous days,
before she grew old. It was a little experiment, too. She thought it
possible that Catherine would scream out, and perhaps fly from her; but
surely would be easily reassured when she heard the voice she knew, and
saw by her one who was no ghost, but her own kind mistress. But Catherine
took no notice when she spoke; she did not so much as turn her head. Lady
Mary stood by her patiently, with more and more of that wistful desire to
be recognized. She put her hand timidly upon the woman's arm, who was
thinking of nothing but her boys, and calling to them, straining her eyes
in the fading light. "Don't be afraid, they are coming, they are safe,"
she said, pressing Catherine's arm. But the woman never moved. She took
no notice. She called to a neighbor who was passing, to ask if she had
seen the children, and the two stood and talked in the dim air, not
conscious of the third who stood between them, looking from one to
another, astonished, paralyzed. Lady Mary had not been prepared for this;
she could not believe it even now. She repeated their names more and more
anxiously, and even plucked at their sleeves to call their attention. She
stood as a poor dependent sometimes stands, wistful, civil, trying to say
something that wi