haunted by my horrible doubts of the night? I take up my
traveling-bag; I leave my letters on the sitting-room table; and
I descend the stairs to the house door. The night-porter at the
hotel is slumbering in his chair. He wakes as I pass him; and
(God help me!) he too looks as if he thought I was mad.

"Going to leave us already, sir?" he says, looking at the bag in
my hand.

Mad or sane, I am ready with my reply. I tell him I am going out
for a day in the country, and to make it a long day, I must start
early.

The man still stares at me. He asks if he shall find some one to
carry my bag. I decline to let anybody be disturbed. He inquires
if I have any messages to leave for my friend. I inform him that
I have left written messages upstairs for Sir James and the
landlord. Upon this he draws the bolts and opens the door. To the
last he looks at me as if he thought I was mad.

Was he right or wrong? Who can answer for himself? How can I
tell?

CHAPTER XXXII.

A LAST LOOK AT GREENWATER BROAD.

MY spirits rose as I walked through the bright empty streets, and
breathed the fresh morning air.

Taking my way eastward through the great city, I stopped at the
first office that I passed, and secured my place by the early
coach to Ipswich. Thence I traveled with post-horses to the
market-town which was nearest to Greenwater Broad. A walk of a
few miles in the cool evening brought me, through well-remembered
by-roads, to our old house. By the last rays of the setting sun I
looked at the familiar row of windows in front, and saw that the
shutters were all closed. Not a living creature was visible
anywhere. Not even a dog barked as I rang the great bell at the
door. The place was deserted; the house was shut up.

After a long delay, I heard heavy footsteps in the hall. An old
man opened the door.

Changed as he was, I remembered him as one of our tenants in the
by-gone time. To his astonishment, I greeted him by his name. On
his side, he tried hard to recognize me, and tried in vain. No
doubt I was the more sadly changed of the two: I was obliged to
introduce myself. The poor fellow's withered face brightened
slowly and timidly, as if he were half incapable, half afraid, of
indulging in the unaccustomed luxury of a smile. In his confusion
he bid me welcome home ag ain, as if the house had been mine.

Taking me into the little back-room which he inhabited, the old
man gave me all he had to offer--a supper of bacon and eggs and a
glass of home-brewed beer. He was evidently puzzled to understand
me when I informed him that the only object of my visit was to
look once more at the familiar scenes round my old home. But he
willingly placed his services at my disposal; and he engaged to
do his best, if I wished it, to make me up a bed for the night.

The house had been closed and the establishment of servants had
been dismissed for more than a year past. A passion for
horse-racing, developed late in life, had ruined the rich retired
tradesman who had purchased the estate at the time of our family
troubles. He had gone abroad with his wife to live on the little
income that had been saved from the wreck of his fortune; and he
had left the house and lands in such a state of neglect that no
new purchaser had thus far been found to take them. My old
friend, "now past his work," had been put in charge of the place.
As for Dermody's cottage, it was empty, like the house. I was at
perfect liberty to look over it if I liked. There was the key of
the door on the bunch with the others; and here was the old man,
with his old hat on his head, ready to accompany me wherever I
pleased to go. I declined to trouble him to accompany me or to
make up a bed in the lonely house. The night was fine, the moon
was rising. I had supped; I had rested. When I had seen what I
wanted to see, I could easily walk back to the market-town and
sleep at the inn. Taking the key in my hand, I set forth alone on
the way through the grounds which led to Dermody's cottage.

Again I followed the woodland paths along which I had once idled
so happily with my little Mary. At every step I saw something
that reminded me of her. Here was the rustic bench on which we
had sat together under the shadow of the old cedar-tree, and
vowed to be constant to each other to the end of our lives. There
was the bright little water spring, from which we drank when we
were weary and thirsty in sultry summer days, still bubbling its
way downward to the lake as cheerily as ever. As I listened to
the companionable murmur of the stream, I almost expected to see
her again, in her simple white frock and straw hat, singing to
the music of the rivulet, and freshening her nosegay of wild
flowers by dipping it in the cool water. A few steps further on
and I reached a clearing in the wood and stood on a little
promontory of rising ground which commanded the prettiest view of
Greenwater lake. A platform of wood was built out from the bank,
to be used for bathing by good swimmers who were not afraid of a
plunge into deep water. I stood on the platform and looked round
me. The trees that fringed the shore on either hand murmured
their sweet sylvan music in the night air; the moonlight trembled


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