undulating country had lost
its monotonous expression under the influence of the ruddy twilight; the
distant fields and woods were bathed in a soft violet atmosphere, and a
fire-glow lay spread over the young wheat.

To the left, the smoke of the factory rolled against the purple and gold
of the sky; the dense black brought out finely the beautiful unfolding
forms of the white vapor, as the soft evening wind swept in among it;
these snowy shapes, as they mounted high and floated off, looked like
ascending spirits of the blest in a Judgment scene; at last they were
all blended with the ashen gray of the descending night.

As I struck my front-door-bell, I heard Lucy still screaming out her
assurance of a heavenly home; but the chanting had lost its irritating
sound, and I listened to it, if not with pleasure, at least with
patience: even the Skye, Ton-Ton was so improved in temper by the walk
as to coil up its little silky gray body in the basket with perfect
indifference to the domestic music. While I was dining, the watchful
ears of my dogs detected the steps of strangers on the terrace-steps of
the entrance, which news they announced in shrill barks.

"Some Spring-Town visitors to Lucy," I thought, as I heard the steps
pass under the side window, which supposition was confirmed by the
ceasing of the hopeful hymn.

There was a profound silence for a little while in the back part of the
house; and the dogs resumed their slumbers, dreaming pleasantly of their
nice walk and good meal. I pushed the little dinner-table away, lighted
the spirit-lamp under the tea, which was on a small tray on the
library-table, and leaned back in the easy-chair to read a comforting
page or two in De Quincey's Caesars. I would not disturb Lucy and her
guests for a little while at least, I thought. I had just reached,--

"Peace, then, rhetoricians! false threnodists of false liberty! hollow
chanters over the ashes of a hollow republic! Without Caesar we affirm a
thousand times that there would have been no perfect Rome; and but for
Rome there could have been no such man as Caesar"--

--when I heard Lucy crossing the anteroom. The library-door opened, and
in the poor girl tottered, sobbing bitterly as if her heart would surely
burst. She crouched down on the floor, and moaned so like a poor wounded
animal, that the dogs, who are very fond of her, ran up and commenced
whining and licking her. To my repeated inquiries as to the cause of her