Sweep, by-the-by, had turned up to breakfast, and was with me.
"I've come to see you off," I shouted, "and to break the charm of _last times_, and Sweep has come too." "Strange to say, Sweep came back to me last night, after you left," said the Rector, laughing; "and he added omen to superstition by sitting under the window when I turned him out, and howling like a Banshee." Sweep himself looked rather foolish as he wagged his tail in answer to the Rector's greeting.

He had the air of saying, "We were all a little excited last night.

Let it pass." For my own part I felt quite reassured.

The Rector was in his sunniest mood, and as he watched us from the window to the very last, his face was so bright with smiles, that he hardly looked ill.
For some days Sweep and I were absent, fishing.
When I returned, I found on my mantelpiece a black-edged letter in an unfamiliar hand.

But for the black I should have fancied it was a bill.