A wavering mass of colour gleamed at the farther end of the village as he looked down the winding road;—­scarlet coats, white vests and buckskin breeches showed bravely against the satiny brown and greys of a fine group of gaily prancing steeds that came following after the huntsmen, the hounds and the whippers-in, and a cheery murmur of pleasant voices, broken with an occasional musical ring of laughter, dispersed for a time the heaviness of the rainy air.  Something unusually pleasant seemed to animate the faces of all who composed the hunting train as they came into view,—­Miss Arabella Ittlethwaite, for example, portly of bulk though she was, sat in her saddle with an almost mirthful lightness, her good-natured fat face all smiles,—­while her brother Bruce, laughing heartily over something which had evidently tickled his fancy, looked more like thirty than sixty, so admirably did his ‘pink’ become him, and so excellently well did he ride.  Walden saluted them as they passed, and they gave him a pleasant ‘good-day.’  But,—­what was that sudden flash of deep purple, which the fitful sun, peering sulkily through grey clouds, struck upon quickly with a slanting half-smile of radiance?  What—­and who was the woman riding lightly, with uplifted head like a queen, in the midst of the company, surrounded by all the younger men of the neighbourhood who, keeping their horses close on either side of her, appeared to be trying to outrival each other in eager attentions, in questions and answers, in greetings and hat-liftings, and general exchange of courtesies?  Walden rubbed his eyes, and gazed and gazed,-anon his heart gave a wild leap, and he felt himself growing deadly pale.  Had the portrait of ’Mary Elia Adelgisa de Vaignecourt’ in Abbot’s Manor come visibly to life?—­or was it, could it be indeed,—­Maryllia?

He would gladly have turned away, but some stronger force than his own held him fast where he stood, stricken with surprise, and a gladness that was almost fear.  The swaying gleam of purple came nearer and nearer, and resolved itself at last into definite shape,- -Maryllia’s face, Maryllia’s eyes!  Almost mechanically he half opened his gate as all the hunters went trotting by, and she alone reined in her mare ‘Cleopatra’ and spoke to him.

“How do you do, Mr. Walden!”

He looked up—­and looking, smiled.  What a child she was after all!—­ full of quaint vanities surely, and naive coquetry!  For her riding-dress was the exact copy of that worn by her pictured ancestress “Mary Elia,’—­even to the three-cornered hat and the tiny rose fastened in the bodice which was turned back with embroidered gold revers,—­so that the ‘lady in the vi’let velvet’ appeared before him as it were, re-incarnated,—­and the pouting lips, sweet eyes and radiant hair were all part of the witch-glamour and mystery!  Mastering his thoughts with an effort, he raised his hat in his usual quietly courteous way.

“This is a great surprise, Miss Vancourt!” he said, lightly, though his voice trembled a little—­“And a happy one!  The villagers will be delighted to see you back again!  When did you return?”