I laughed a little.  It had been an observation of mine, made some years ago, that the surest method of consolation in cases of excessive grief, was the introduction of some family or neighborly gossip, seasoned slightly with scandal.  The most vehement mourning had been turned into another current of thought by the lifting of this sluice.

“It restores the balance of the emotions,” I answered.  “Anything soft, and tender, and touching, makes you more sensitive.  A person like Miss Daltrey acts as a tonic; bitter, perhaps, but invigorating.”

The morning passed without any interruption; but in the afternoon Grace came in, with a face full of grave importance, to announce that Miss Dobree had called, and desired to see Mrs. Dobree alone.  “Quite alone,” repeated Grace, emphatically.

“I’ll go up-stairs to my own room,” I said to my mother.

“I am afraid you cannot, Martin,” she answered, hesitatingly.  “Miss Daltrey has taken possession of it, and she has not removed all her things yet.  She and Julia did not leave till late last night.  You must go to the spare room.”

“I thought you would have kept my room for me, mother,” I said, reproachfully.

“So I would,” she replied, her lips quivering, “but Miss Daltrey took a fancy to it, and your father and Julia made a point of indulging her.  I really think Julia would have had every thing belonging to you swept into the streets.  It was very hard for me, Martin.  I was ten times more vexed than you are to give up your room to Miss Daltrey.  It was my only comfort to go and sit there, and think of my dear boy.”  “Never mind, never mind,” I answered.  “I am at home now, and you will never be left alone with them again—­nevermore, mother.”

I retreated to the spare room, fully satisfied that I should dislike Miss Daltrey quite as much as my mother could wish.  Finding that Julia prolonged her visit downstairs, I went out after a while for a stroll in the old garden, where the trees and shrubs had grown with my growth, and were as familiar as human friends to me.  I visited Madam in her stall, and had a talk with old Pellet; and generally established my footing once more as the only son of the house; not at all either as if I were a prodigal son, come home repentant.  I was resolved not to play that role, for had I not been more sinned against than sinning?

My father came in to dinner; but, like a true man of the world, he received me back on civil and equal terms, not alluding beyond a word or two to my long absence.  We began again as friends; and our mutual knowledge of my mother’s fatal malady softened our hearts and manners toward one another.  Whenever he was in-doors he waited upon her with sedulous attention.  But, for the certainty that death was lurking very near to us, I should have been happier in my home than I had ever been since that momentous week in Sark.  But I was also nearer to Olivia, and every throb of my pulse was quickened by the mere thought of that.