He departed the same day, and four days afterwards I received a letter from his steward telling me in his name to join him with as little delay as possible.

After travelling day and night I arrived with an anxious, yet a hoping heart, for why should he send for me if it were only to avoid me and to treat me with the apparent aversion that he had in London.

I met him at the distance of thirty miles from our mansion.

His demeanour was sad; for a moment he appeared glad to see me and then he checked himself as if unwilling to betray his feelings.
He was silent during our ride, yet his manner was kinder than before and I thought I beheld a softness in his eyes that gave me hope.
When we arrived, after a little rest, he led me over the house and pointed out to me the rooms which my mother had inhabited.

Although more than sixteen years had passed since her death nothing had been changed; her work box, her writing desk were still there and in her room a book lay open on the table as she had left it.