The light tramp of horse’s feet fell upon her ear.  She looked up, and with surprise lighting her dark-blue eyes, beheld a gentleman mounted on a fine black Arabian courser, that curveted gracefully and capriciously before the cottage gate.

Smilingly the gentleman soothed and subdued the coquettish mood of his willful steed, and then dismounted and bowing with matchless grace and much deference, addressed Marian.

The maiden was thinking that she had never seen a gentleman with a presence and a manner so graceful, courteous and princely in her life.  He was a tall, finely proportioned, handsome man, with a superb head, an aquiline profile, and fair hair and fair complexion.  The great charm, however, was in the broad, sunny forehead, in the smile of ineffable sweetness, in the low and singularly mellifluous voice, and the manner, gentle and graceful as any woman’s.

“Pardon me, my name is Willcoxen, young lady, and I have the honor of addressing—­”

“Miss Mayfield,” said Marian.

“Thank you,” said the gentleman, with one involuntary gaze of enthusiastic admiration that called all the roses out in full bloom upon the maiden’s cheeks; then governing himself, he bent his eyes to the ground, and said, with great deference:  “You will pardon the liberty I have taken in calling here, Miss Mayfield, when I tell you that I am in search of an unhappy young relative, who, I am informed, passed here not long since.”

“She left us not ten minutes ago, sir, much against our wishes.  My sister has just sent a servant to the forest in search of her, to bring her back, if possible.  Will you enter, and wait till she returns?”

With a beaming smile and graceful bend, and in the same sweet tones, he thanked her, and declined the invitation.  Then he remounted his horse, and bowing deeply, rode off in the direction Fanny had taken.

This was certainly a day of arrivals at Old Fields.  Usually weeks would pass without any one passing to or from the cottage, except Marian, whose cheerful, kindly, social disposition, was the sole connecting link between the cottage and the neighborhood around it.  But this day seemed to be an exception.

While yet the little party lingered at the breakfast-table, Edith looked up, and saw the tall, thin figure of a woman in a nankeen riding-shirt, and a nankeen corded sun-bonnet, in the act of dismounting from her great, raw-boned white horse,

“If there isn’t Miss Nancy Skamp!” exclaimed Edith, in no very hospitable tone—­“and I wonder how she can leave the post-office.”

“Oh! this is not mail day!” replied Marian, laughing, “notwithstanding which we shall have news enough.”  And Marian who, for her part, was really glad to see the old lady, arose to meet and welcome her.