of a child, and a wish to talk to some one out of the fullness of her heart.  She overtook, her step being far lighter than his, one of the men going home from his work, and spoke to him, telling him with a smile not to be afraid; but he never so much as raised his head, and went plodding on with his heavy step, not knowing that she had spoken to him.  She was startled by this; but said to herself, that the men were dull, that their perceptions were confused, and that it was getting dark; and went on, passing him quickly.  His breath made a cloud in the air as he walked, and his heavy plodding steps sounded into the frosty night.  She perceived that her own were invisible and inaudible, with a curious momentary sensation, half of pleasure, half of pain.  She felt no cold, and she saw through the twilight as clearly as if it had been day.  There was no fatigue or sense of weakness in her; but she had the strange, wistful feeling of an exile returning after long years, not knowing how he may find those he had left.  At one of the first houses in the village there was a woman standing at her door, looking out for her children; one who knew Lady Mary well.  She stopped quite cheerfully to bid her good evening, as she had done in her vigorous days, before she grew old.  It was a little experiment, too.  She thought it possible that Catherine would scream out, and perhaps fly from her; but surely would be easily reassured when she heard the voice she knew, and saw by her one who was no ghost, but her own kind mistress.  But Catherine took no notice when she spoke; she did not so much as turn her head.  Lady Mary stood by her patiently, with more and more of that wistful desire to be recognized.  She put her hand timidly upon the woman’s arm, who was thinking of nothing but her boys, and calling to them, straining her eyes in the fading light.  “Don’t be afraid, they are coming, they are safe,” she said, pressing Catherine’s arm.  But the woman never moved.  She took no notice.  She called to a neighbor who was passing, to ask if she had seen the children, and the two stood and talked in the dim air, not conscious of the third who stood between them, looking from one to another, astonished, paralyzed.  Lady Mary had not been prepared for this; she could not believe it even now.  She repeated their names more and more anxiously, and even plucked at their sleeves to call their attention.  She stood as a poor dependent sometimes stands, wistful, civil, trying to say something that will please, while they talked and took no notice; and then the neighbor passed on, and Catherine went into her house.  It is hard to be left out in the cold when others go into their cheerful houses; but to be thus left outside of life, to speak and not be heard, to stand unseen, astounded, unable to secure any attention!  She had thought they would be frightened, but it was not they who were frightened.  A great panic seized the woman who was no more of this world.  She had almost rejoiced