Mrs. Somers, under the direction of that spirit which isolated me from all exterior influences, for a little time had shut down the lid of her evil feelings, and was quiet; watching me, perhaps, but not annoying.  Mr. Somers was engaged with the subject of ventilation.  Ann, to convince herself that she had a musical talent, practiced of afternoons till she was turned out by Adelaide, who had a fit of reading abstruse works, sometimes seeking me with fingers thrust between their leaves to hold abstract conversations, which, though I took small part in them, were of service.

That portion of the world of emotions which I was mapping out she was profoundly indifferent to.  My experiences to her would have been debasing.  As she would not come to me, I went to her, and gained something.

Ben, always a favorite with his father, pursued him, rode with him, and made visits of pleasure or business, with a latent object which kept him on the alert.

I had been in Belem three weeks; in a week more I decided to return home.  My indignation against Mrs. Somers, from our midnight interview, had not suggested that I should shorten my visit.  On the contrary, it had freed me from any regard or fear of her opinion.  I had discovered her limits.

It was Saturday afternoon.  Reflecting that I had but a few days more for Belem, and summing up the events of my visit and the people I had met, their fashions and differences, I unrolled a tolerable panorama, with patches in it of vivid color, and laid it away in my memory, to be unrolled again at some future time.  Then a faint shadow dropped across my mind like a curtain, the first that clouded my royal palace, my mental paradise!

I sighed.  Joyless, vacant, barren hours prefigured themselves to me, drifting through my brain, till their vacant shapes crowded it into darkness.  I must do something!  I would go out; a walk would be good for me.  Moreover, wishing to purchase a parting gift for Adelaide and Ann, I would go alone.  Wandering from shop to shop in Norfolk Street, without finding the articles I desired, I turned into a street which crossed it, and found the right shop.  Seeing Drummond Street on an old gable-end house, a desire to exchange with some one a language which differed from my thoughts prompted me to look up Mrs. Hepburn.  I soon came to her house, and knocked at the door, which Mari opened.  The current was already changed, as I followed her into a room different from the one where I had seen Mrs. Hepburn.  It was dull of aspect, long and narrow, with one large window opening on the old-fashioned garden, and from which I saw a discolored marble Flora.  Mrs. Hepburn was by the window, in her high chair.  She held out her hand and thanked me for coming to see an old woman.  Motioning her head toward a dark corner, she said, “There is a young man who likes occasionally to visit an old woman also.”

The young man, twenty-nine years old, was Desmond.  He crossed the room and offered me his hand.  We had not spoken since we parted at the stairs that memorable night.  He hastily brought chairs, and placed them near Mrs. Hepburn, who seized her spectacles, which were on a silk workbag beside her, scanned us through them, and exclaimed, “Ah ha! what is this?”