ing down from the trees, detached from
no outward violence, but only because its life had reached its full limit
and then ceased. Looking down on the distant sheltered woods, they were
gorgeous in orange and crimson, but their splendor was felt to be the sign
of the decaying and dying year. Even without an inward sorrow, there was a
grand solemnity in the season which impressed the mind, and hushed it into
tranquil thought. Frank rode slowly along, and quietly dismounted at the
old horse-mount, beside which there was an iron bridle-ring fixed in
the gray stone wall. He saw the casement of the parlor-window open, and
Maggie's head bent down over her work. She looked up as he entered the
court, and his footsteps sounded on the flag-walk. She came round and
opened the door. As she stood in the door-way, speaking, he was struck by
her resemblance to some old painting. He had seen her young, calm face,
shining out with great peacefulness, and the large, grave, thoughtful eyes,
giving the character to the features which otherwise they might, from their
very regularity, have wanted. Her brown dress had the exact tint which a
painter would have admired. The slanting mellow sunlight fell upon her as
she stood; and the vine-leaves, already frost-tinted, made a rich, warm
border, as they hung over the old house-door.

"Mamma is not well; she is gone to lie down. How are you? How is Mr.
Buxton?"

"We are both pretty well; quite well, in fact, as far as regards health.
May I come in? I want to talk to you, Maggie!"

She opened the little parlor-door, and they went in; but for a time they
were both silent. They could not speak of her who was with them, present
in their thoughts. Maggie shut the casement, and put a log of wood on the
fire. She sat down with her back to the window; but as the flame sprang up,
and blazed at the touch of the dry wood, Frank saw that her face was wet
with quiet tears. Still her voice was even and gentle, as she answered his
questions. She seemed to understand what were the very things he would care
most to hear. She spoke of his mother's last days; and without any word of
praise (which, indeed, would have been impertinence), she showed such a
just and true appreciation of her who was dead and gone, that he felt as if
he could listen forever to the sweet-dropping words. They were balm to his
sore heart. He had thought it possible that the suddenness of her death
might have made her life incomplete, in tha