CHAPTER XII.
The next day John rode away earlier even than was his wont, I thought.
He stayed but a little while talking with me.

While Mrs.Tod was bustling over our breakfast he asked her, in a grave and unconcerned manner, "How Mr.March was this morning ?" which was the only allusion he made to the previous night's occurrences.
I had a long, quiet day alone in the beech-wood, close below our cottage, sitting by the little runnel, now worn to a thread with the summer weather, but singing still.

It talked to me like a living thing.
When I came home in the evening Miss March stood in front of the cottage, with--strange to say--her father.

But I had heard that his paroxysms were often of brief continuance, and that, like most confirmed valetudinarians, when real danger stared him in the face he put it from him, and was glad to be well.
Seeing me coming, Miss March whispered to him; he turned upon me a listless gaze from over his fur collar, and bowed languidly, without rising from his easy chair.

Yes, it was Mr.March--the very Mr.March we had met! I knew him, changed though he was; but he did not know me in the least, as, indeed, was not likely.
His daughter came a step or two to meet me.