He would gladly have turned away, but some stronger force than his own held him fast where he stood, stricken with surprise, and a gladness that was almost fear. The swaying gleam of purple came nearer and nearer, and resolved itself at last into definite shape,- -Maryllia's face, Maryllia's eyes! Almost mechanically he half opened his gate as all the hunters went trotting by, and she alone reined in her mare 'Cleopatra' and spoke to him.
"How do you do, Mr. Walden!"
He looked up--and looking, smiled. What a child she was after all!-- full of quaint vanities surely, and naive coquetry! For her riding- dress was the exact copy of that worn by her pictured ancestress "Mary Elia,'--even to the three-cornered hat and the tiny rose fastened in the bodice which was turned back with embroidered gold revers,--so that the 'lady in the vi'let velvet' appeared before him as it were, re-incarnated,--and the pouting lips, sweet eyes and radiant hair were all part of the witch-glamour and mystery! Mastering his thoughts with an effort, he raised his hat in his usual quietly courteous way.
"This is a great surprise, Miss Vancourt!" he said, lightly, though his voice trembled a little--"And a happy one! The villagers will be delighted to see you back again! When did you return?"
"Last night,"--she answered, fixing her frank gaze fully upon him and noting with a sharp little pang of compunction that he looked far from well--"I felt I MUST be here for the first meet of the season! I've been staying in an old convent on the Breton coast,-- such a dear quaint place! And I think,"--here she nodded her pretty head wisely--"I THINK I've brought you enough stained glass to quite finish your rose-window! I've been busy collecting it ever since I left here. Gently, Cleo!--gently, my beauty!"--this, as her mare pawed the ground restlessly and sprang forward--"Come and see me to- morrow, Mr. Walden! I shall expect you!"
Waving her gloved hand she cantered off and rejoined the rest of the hunters going on ahead. Once she turned in her saddle and looked back,--and again waved her hand. The sun came out fully then, and sweeping aside the grey mists, ehed all its brightness on the graceful figure in the saddle, striking a reflex of rose from the soft violet riding-dress, and sparkling against the rippling twists of gold-brown, hair,--then,--as she disappeared between two rows of leafless trees,--withdrew itself again frowningly and shone no more that day.