Katherine blushed scarlet.  This was the opportunity she wanted.  She wondered if her mother suspected the want; but Lysbet’s face expressed only a little worry about the missing damask.  Slowly, though her heart beat almost at her lips, she folded away her work, and put her needle, and thread, and thimble, and scissors, each in its proper place in her house-wife.  So deliberate were all her actions, that Lysbet’s suspicions were almost allayed.  Yet she thought, “If out she wishes to go, leave I have now given her; and, if not, still the walk will do her some good.”  And yet there was in her heart just that element of doubt, which, whenever it is present, ought to make us pause and reconsider the words we are going to speak or write, and the deed we are going to do.

The nights were yet chilly,—­though the first blooms were on the trees,—­and the wadded cloak and hood were not so far out of season as to cause remark.  As she came downstairs, the clock struck seven.  There was yet an hour, and she durst not wait so long at the bottom of the garden while it was early in the evening.  When her work was done, Lysbet frequently walked down it; she had a motherly interest in the budding fruit-trees and the growing flowers.  And a singular reluctance to leave home assailed Katherine.  If she had known that it was to be forever, her soul could not have more sensibly taken its farewell of all the dear, familiar objects of her daily life.  About her mother this feeling culminated.  She found her cap a little out of place; and her fingers lingered in the lace, and stroked fondly her hair and pink cheeks, until Lysbet felt almost embarrassed by the tender, but unusual show of affection.

“Now, then, go, my Katherine.  To Joanna give my dear love.  Tell her that very good were the cheesecakes and the krullers, and that to-morrow I will come over and see the new carpet they have bought.”

And while she spoke she was retying Katherine’s hood, and admiring as she did so the fair, sweet face in its quiltings or crimson satin, and the small, dimpled chin resting upon the fine bow she tied under it.  Then she followed her to the door, and watched her down the road until she saw her meet Dominie Van Linden, and stand a moment holding his hand.  “A message I am going for my mother,” she said, as she firmly refused his escort.  “Then with madam, your mother, I will sit until you return,” he replied cheerfully; and Katherine answered, “That will be a great pleasure to her, sir.”

A little farther she walked; but suddenly remembering that the dominie’s visit would keep her mother in the house, and being made restless by the gathering of the night shadows, she turned quickly, and taking the very road up which Hyde had come the night Neil Semple challenged him, she entered the garden by a small gate at its foot, which was intended for the gardener’s use.  The lilacs had not much foliage, but in the dim light her dark, slim figure