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.