CHAPTER XI.
Strange things have happened unto me--I seem scarce awake--but I will recollect my thoughts, and try to give an account of what has befallen me in the few last weeks.
Since my father's death our family have resided in London.

I am in practice as a surgeon there.

My mother died two years after we left Widford.
A month or two ago, I had been busying myself in drawing up the above narrative, intending to make it public.

The employment had forced my mind to dwell upon _facts_, which had begun to fade from it--the memory of old times became vivid, and more vivid--I felt a strong desire to revisit the scenes of my native village--of the young loves of Rosamund and her Clare.
A kind of dread had hitherto kept me back; but I was restless now, till I had accomplished my wish.

I set out one morning to walk--I reached Widford about eleven in the forenoon--after a slight breakfast at my inn--where I was mortified to perceive the old landlord did not know me again--( old Thomas Billet--he has often made angle-rods for me when a child)--I rambled over all my accustomed haunts.
Our old house was vacant, and to be sold.