Presently, instead of passing a gate, the Doctor turned in at it, and drove smoothly up the gentle slope of a hard-rolled winding avenue lined with hemlocks.  “Pretty, isn’t it?” cried he.  “O for the time when I shall retire upon my fortune, and leave my office to Phil the second!  There, Katy!  What do you think of that?”

What did I think?  O, too much to be told, either then or now!  From the dark trees one forward step of each of De Quincey’s forefeet brought us out into a high amphitheatre, at the instant flooded with sunshine.  A higher hill, wooded with evergreens and bossed with boulders, made a background behind it, on the right, for a large, low cottage of clear gray granite, with broad piazzas curtained with Virginia creepers and monthly honeysuckles, and cloistered on the south.  In front of the cottage was a shaven lawn, rimmed with a hedge of graceful barberries, and lighted up by small circular spots of brown earth, teeming with salvia and other splendid autumn flowers.  Beyond and on the left ran a long reach of rocky headlands, burning with golden-rod and wild-rose berries mingled with purple asters and white spiraea, and all along from below, but very near, spread out far and wide the inexpressible ocean.  It was a rough, ridgy, sage-greenish, gray ocean, I remember, that morning, full of tumble and toss and long scalloped lines of spent foam, covered over with a dim, low half-dome of sky,—­with seagulls flickering, and here and there a small, wild, ragged gypsy of a cloud, of a little darker gray, scudding lawlessly under,—­and threw out in the strongest contrast the brilliant hues and sharp, clear outlines of the shore.

The Doctor sprang from the chaise, left me in it, and threw me the reins.  I always wished he wouldn’t, but he always would.  The most I had to gain by pulling them, if De Quincey grew restless, was to make him back; and this was precisely what I least desired.  My reasonable expostulations, however, could never obtain any more grace from him who should have been my guardian than a promise, if I would “make no fuss, and broken bones” came of it, that he would “mend me softly.”  Therefore I thought it most prudent not to expostulate; but my penance was this time a brief one.  He had hardly entered the door when the tall, striking figure I recollected so well came dimly in view in one of the nearest bay-windows, tapped on the glass with one slender white-frilled hand, and nodded with a bright, glad smile; and back came the Doctor to help me out.

“It is all right, Katy.  Miss Dudley wants you, and does not want me.  If it rains, you can stay till I call for you.  Otherwise, come back when you like.  The first door to your left in the hall.”

Miss Dudley met me in the parlor-door, laughing.  “I should have come out to make prize of you,” said she, “but they say it is rather bleak this morning, and I am still under orders.  I had almost given you up for this week; but the Doctor assures me that he has already been suitably dealt with and brought to repentance, and so there is no more to be said on that point, especially as you have happened to hit on the very time when I am most alone, and when, as I have been accustomed to be the busiest, I feel my present idleness the most.  You drove here, after all.  You are not tired?  What should you say, first, to a walk with me?”