"Poor aunts!" she said softly to herself; "how old they have grown since
then."
But she did not long look at them; her attention was attracted by a much
younger lady--a mere girl she seemed, but oh, so sweet and pretty! She
was dancing with a gentleman whose eyes looked as if they saw no one
else, and she herself seemed brimming over with youth and happiness. Her
very steps had joy in them.
"Well, Griselda," whispered a voice, which she knew was the cuckoo's;
"so you don't like to be told you are like your grandmother, eh?"
Griselda turned round sharply to look for the speaker, but he was not to
be seen. And when she turned again, the picture of the great saloon had
faded away.
* * * * *
One more picture.
Griselda looked again. She saw before her a country road in full summer
time; the sun was shining, the birds were singing, the trees covered
with their bright green leaves--everything appeared happy and joyful.
But at last in the distance she saw, slowly approaching, a group of a
few people, all walking together, carrying in their centre something
long and narrow, which, though the black cloth covering it was almost
hidden by the white flowers with which it was thickly strewn, Griselda
knew to be a coffin.
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