“I will see Cornelia for thee,” said Madame Van Heernskirk. “I will ask the girl what she means.  Very often she passes here, sometimes she comes in.  I will say to her—­why did thou throw my grandson’s love away like an old shoe?  Art thou not ashamed to be so light of love, for I know well thou said to my Joris, thou loved him.  And she will tell me the truth.  Yes, indeed, if into my house she comes, out of it she goes not, until I have the why, and the wherefore.”

“Do not be unkind to her, grandmother—­perhaps it is not her fault—­if she had only said a few sorrowful words—­Let me show you her letter.”

“No,” said Van Heernskirk.”  One thing at a time, Joris.  Now it is the time to go and welcome thy father and thy cousin—­too long has been the delay already.”

“Then good-bye!  Grandmother, you will speak or me?” And she smiled and nodded, and stood on her tiptoe while Joris stooped and kissed her—­ “Fret not thyself at all.  I will see Cornelia and speak for thee.”  And then he kissed her again and rode away.

Very near the great entrance gates of Hyde Manor he met his father and mother walking.  Madame, the Right Honourable the Countess of Hyde, was pointing out the many improvements she had made; and the Earl looked pleased and happy.  George threw himself off his horse with a loving impetuosity, and his mother questioned him about his manner of spending the previous day.  “How could thou help knowing thy father had landed?” she asked.”  Was not the whole city talking of the circumstance?”

“I was not in the city, mother.  I went to the post office and from there to Madame Jacobus.  She was just leaving for Charleston, and I went with her to the boat.”

“What an incredible thing!  Madame Jacobus leaving New York!  For what?  For why?”

“She has gone to nurse her sister-in-law, who is dying.  That is of all things the most likely—­for she has a great heart.”

“You say that—­I know not.”

“It is the truth itself.  Afterwards I had my lunch and then came on a fever and a distracting headache, and I was compelled to keep my room; and so heard nothing at all until my grandfather told me the good news this morning.”

“Madame Kippon was on the dock and saw thy father and cousin land.  The news would be a hot coal in her mouth till she told it, and I am amazed she did not call at thy lodging.  Now go forward; when thy father and I have been round the land, we will come to thee.  Thy cousin Annie is here.”

“That confounds me.  I could hardly believe it true.”

“She is frail, and her physicians thought the sea voyage might give her the vitality she needs.  It was at least a chance, and she was determined to take it.  Then thy father put all his own desires behind him, and came with her.  We will talk more in a little while.  I see thy dress is untidy, and I dare say thou art hungry.  Go, eat and dress, by that time we shall be home.”