spring had passed away, and the bloom and the glory of summer had
departed. The apple-trees were now laden with their rosy treasures, the
peach was ripe on the sunny wall, and the summer darkness of the woods
had but just begun to be varied by the appearance of a few yellow
leaves. It was on a September afternoon, when the soft light of the
autumn sunset was bathing in its pale golden rays the grey turrets of
Woodthorpe Hall, and resting like a parting smile on the summits of the
ancestral oaks and elms, while it cast deep shadows, crossed with bright
gleams, on the spreading lawns, or glanced back from the antlers of the
deer, as they ever and anon appeared in the hollows of the park or
between the trees, that a travelling carriage passed under the old
Gothic archway which formed the entrance to Woodthorpe Park, and drove
rapidly towards the Hall. It contained Edmund and Fanny, the
newly-married pair, who had just returned from a wedding trip to Paris.
They were not, however, the only occupants of the carriage. With them
was Mr. Dalton, whom we knew in former days as Philip Hayforth, and who
had been specially invited by Mrs. Beauchamp to accompany the bride and
bridegroom on their return to Woodthorpe Hall.

And now the carriage stops beneath the porch, and in the arched doorway
stands a noble and graceful figure--the lady of the mansion. The
slanting sunbeams, streaming through the stained windows at the upper
end of the oak hall, played upon her dress of dark and shining silk,
which was partly covered by a shawl or mantle of black lace, while her
sweet pale face was lighted up with affection, and her eyes were full of
a grave gladness. Her fair hair, just beginning to be streaked with
silver, was parted over her serene forehead, and above it rested a
simple matronly cap of finest lace. Emily Beauchamp was still a
beautiful woman--beautiful even as when in the early prime of youth and
love she had stood in the light of the new-born day, clad in her robes
of vestal whiteness. The change in her was but the change from morning
to evening--from spring to autumn; and to some hearts the waning light
and the fading leaves have a charm which sunshine and spring-time cannot
boast. Having fondly but hastily embraced her son and daughter, she
turned to Mr. Dalton, and with cordial warmth bade him welcome to
Woodthorpe Hall. He started at the sound of the gentle, earnest tones
which, as if by magic, brought palpably before him