Never had the quiet little town
seemed so lovely to him. The quaint irregular houses stood one-half of
them in shadow, and the rest in the level rays of the May sunset; the
chestnut-trees, with their young green leaves and their white blossoms
lighting up each branch to the very summit of them; the hawthorn bushes
here and there covered with snowy bloom; the children playing, and the
swallows darting to and fro overhead; the distant shout of the cuckoo,
and the deep low tone of the church clock just striking the hour--this
was the threshold of home to him; the outer court, which was dearer to
him and more completely his own than any other place in the wide world
could ever be.
No one was quick to recognize him in his somewhat foreign aspect; the
children at their play took no notice of him. All the tradespeople were
busy getting their shops a little in order before the shutters were put
up. He might perhaps pass through the street as far as Bolton Villa
without being observed, and so be sure of a perfectly quiet evening. But
as he thought so his heart gave a great bound, for there before him was
Sophy herself hurrying along the uneven causeway, now lost behind some
jutting building, and then seen once more, still hastening with quick,
unsteady steps, as if bent on some pressing errand.
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