From Lady Alice it was an easy transition of thought to the new guest at Castleford.  Where had he seen her face? and with what was he associated in her mind?  Nothing agreeable; of that he was quite sure.  The vivid blush and indescribable shrinking he had noticed more than once (and Errington, like most quiet men, was a close observer) seemed unaccountable.  Miss Liddell was far from shy; she was well-bred and evidently accustomed to society; her avoidance had therefore made the more impression.  His experience of life had hitherto been exceedingly unemotional, and Katherine’s unexpected betrayal of feeling puzzled him not a little.

At this point in his reflections he had reached that part of the road where it dipped into a hollow, on one side of which the Melford woods began.  A steep bank rose on the right, thickly studded with beech and oak trees, still leafless, but the scanty, yellowish grass which grew beneath them was tufted with primroses and violets.

As Errington came round a bend in the little valley the sound of shrill, childish laughter came pleasantly to his ear, and the next minute brought him in sight of a lady in mourning whom he recognized immediately, and two little boys, who were high up the back, busily engaged filling a basket with sweet spring blossoms.

Errington paused, dismounted, and raising his hat, approached her.

“I did not expect so meet you so far afield,” he said.  “You are not afraid of a long walk.”

“My nephews have led me on from flower to flower,” she returned, again coloring brightly, but not shrinking from his eyes.  “Now I think it is time to go home.”

“It is not late,” he returned.  “How is every one at Castleford?”

“Quite well.  Lady Alice has lost her cold, and regained her voice—­she was singing this morning,” said Katherine, smiling as if she knew the real drift of his question.

“I am glad to hear it,” he returned, soberly.

Errington and Lady Alice did not write to each other every day.

“Auntie,” cried Cis, “the basket is quite full.  If you open your sunshade and hold it upside-down, I can fill that too.”

“No dear; you have quite enough.  We must go back now.”

“Oh, not yet, please?” The little fellow came tumbling down the bank, followed by Charlie, who immediately caught his aunt’s hand and repeated, “Not yet, auntie!”

“These are Mrs. Ormonde’s boys, I suppose?” said Errington.

“Yes; have you never seen them before?”

“Never.  And have you not had enough climbing?” he added, good-humoredly, to Charlie.

“No, not half enough!” cried Cis.  “There’s such a bunch of violets just under that biggest beech-tree, nearly up at the top!  Do let me gather them—­just those; do—­do—­do!”

“Very well; do not go too fast, or you will break your neck.”

Both boys started off, leaving their basket at Katherine’s feet.