But not even Uncle Max’s absence could damp me, I felt so light-hearted.  ‘I hope I am not fey,’ I said to myself, with a little thrill of excitement and expectation as the familiar station came in view.  Never since Charlie’s death had I felt so cheerful and full of life.

Nathaniel was on the platform to look after my luggage, so I walked up the hill quietly, with my basket of flowers.  As I passed the vicarage, Mr. Tudor came out and walked with me to the gate of the White Cottage.  I had a dim suspicion that he had been watching for me.

Of course he asked after the family at Hyde Park Gate, and was most particular in his inquiries after Aunt Philippa.  Just at the last he mentioned Jill.

’I hope your cousin Jocelyn is well,—­I mean none the worse for her accident,’ he said, turning very red.

‘Oh no,’ I returned carelessly; ’nothing hurts Jill.  She was riding in the Park the next morning as though nothing had happened.’

‘I remember you told me so, when I called to inquire,’ was his answer.  ’It was a nasty accident, and might have upset her nerves; but she is very strong and courageous.’

‘She has great reason to be grateful to you,’ I returned, for I felt very sorry for him.  He was hoping that she had sent him some message; she would surely desire to be remembered to him.  When I repeated Jill’s abrupt little speech his face cleared, and he looked quite bright.

’There is Mrs. Barton looking out for you:  I must not keep you at the gate talking,’ he said cheerfully.  ’Besides, I see Leah Bates coming down from Gladwyn, and I want to speak to her.’  And he ran off in his boyish fashion.

I was glad to escape Leah, so I went quickly up the garden-path.  The little widow was waiting for me in the porch, her face beaming with welcome.  Tinker rushed out of the kitchen as soon as he heard my voice, and gambolled round us with awkward demonstrations of joy that nearly upset us, and Joe the black cat came and rubbed himself against my gown, with tail erect and loud purring.

The little parlour looked snug and inviting.  The fireplace was decorated with fir cones and tiny boughs covered with silvery lichen.  A great pot of mignonette perfumed the room with its sweetness.  Charlie’s face seemed to greet me with grave sweet smiles.  I seemed to hear his voice, ’Welcome home, Ursula.’

‘Oh, I am so glad to be home!’ I said, as I went upstairs to my pretty bedroom.

When I had finished my unpacking, and had had tea, I sat down in my easy-chair, with a book that Miss Gillespie had lent me.  Tinker laid his head in my lap, and we both disposed ourselves for an idle, luxurious evening.  The bees were still humming about the honeysuckles; one great brown fellow had buried himself in one of my crimson roses; the birds were twittering in the acacia-tree, chirping their good-night to each other; the sun was setting behind the limes in a glory of pink and golden clouds, and a mingled scent of roses, mignonette, and hay seemed to pervade the atmosphere.