He stepped back a few paces and looked up at the house; then glanced round him at the garden and the distant view.  After this he burst out laughing.  “I see it must seem to you very strange,” he said.  There was, after all, something substantial in his laughter.  Gertrude looked at him from head to foot.  Yes, he was remarkably handsome; but his smile was almost a grimace.  “It is very still,” he went on, coming nearer again.  And as she only looked at him, for reply, he added, “Are you all alone?”

“Every one has gone to church,” said Gertrude.

“I was afraid of that!” the young man exclaimed.  “But I hope you are not afraid of me.”

“You ought to tell me who you are,” Gertrude answered.

“I am afraid of you!” said the young man.  “I had a different plan.  I expected the servant would take in my card, and that you would put your heads together, before admitting me, and make out my identity.”

Gertrude had been wondering with a quick intensity which brought its result; and the result seemed an answer—­a wondrous, delightful answer—­to her vague wish that something would befall her.  “I know—­I know,” she said.  “You come from Europe.”

“We came two days ago.  You have heard of us, then—­you believe in us?”

“We have known, vaguely,” said Gertrude, “that we had relations in France.”

“And have you ever wanted to see us?” asked the young man.

Gertrude was silent a moment.  “I have wanted to see you.”

“I am glad, then, it is you I have found.  We wanted to see you, so we came.”

“On purpose?” asked Gertrude.

The young man looked round him, smiling still.  “Well, yes; on purpose.  Does that sound as if we should bore you?” he added.  “I don’t think we shall—­I really don’t think we shall.  We are rather fond of wandering, too; and we were glad of a pretext.”

“And you have just arrived?”

“In Boston, two days ago.  At the inn I asked for Mr. Wentworth.  He must be your father.  They found out for me where he lived; they seemed often to have heard of him.  I determined to come, without ceremony.  So, this lovely morning, they set my face in the right direction, and told me to walk straight before me, out of town.  I came on foot because I wanted to see the country.  I walked and walked, and here I am!  It ’s a good many miles.”

“It is seven miles and a half,” said Gertrude, softly.  Now that this handsome young man was proving himself a reality she found herself vaguely trembling; she was deeply excited.  She had never in her life spoken to a foreigner, and she had often thought it would be delightful to do so.  Here was one who had suddenly been engendered by the Sabbath stillness for her private use; and such a brilliant, polite, smiling one!  She found time and means to compose herself, however:  to remind herself that she must exercise a sort of official hospitality.  “We are very—­very glad to see you,” she said.  “Won’t you come into the house?” And she moved toward the open door.