The mistake about the hour of my arrival was one of those pieces of confusion which seem too trifling ever to be worth clearing up.

But it was a mistake which caused me months of unutterable misery.
The idea of the visit had always been distasteful to me; but, having made up my mind to go, I thought it was better to be amiable for John's sake.

About mid-day I said good-bye to the three who were already my mother and sisters, and set out to walk across the moor to the Hall.
John was to dine with the Hills that day, so I knew I should see him in the evening.

My baggage had been sent on before me early in the morning.
It seemed very absurd to feel so sorry at leaving home to stay at a fine house, where the hours were to be filled with feasting and merry-making.
In earlier days it would have been otherwise.

But the farm, with its busy inmates, its old-fashioned nooks and corners, its homely sights and sounds, had grown strangely sufficient for the desires of my life.
I arrived at the Hall, gaining the grounds by a descent from the hill at their back, and coming, so, round by the gardens to the house.