life he understood the attractions of
domesticity. During the early months of the year, slippers and the
fireside after dinner; now that the sunset-time was growing warm and
fragrant, a musing saunter about the garden walks; these were the
things to which his imagination grew fond of turning. Nor to these
only; blended with such visions of bodily comfort, perchance lending to
them their chief attraction, was the light of a young face, grave
always, often sad, speaking with its beautiful eyes to those simpler
and tenderer instincts of his nature which had hitherto slept. In the
presence of Ida (who was now known, by his wish, as Miss Woodstock)
Abraham's hard voice found for itself a more modest and musical key.

He began--novel sensation--to look upon himself as a respectable old
gentleman; the grey patches on his head were grateful to him from that
point of view. If only he had been able to gather round his
granddaughter and himself a circle of equally respectable friends and
acquaintances, he would have enjoyed complete satisfaction. Two or
three at most there were, whom he could venture to bring over with him
from the old life to the new. For Ida he could as yet provide no
companionship at all.

But Ida did not feel the want. Since the day of her coming to the new
house her life had been very full; so much was passing within, that she
desired to escape, rather than discover, new distractions in the world
around her. For the week or so during which Waymark had lain ill, her
courage had triumphed over the sufferings to which she was herself a
prey; the beginning of his recovery brought about a reaction in her
state, and for some days she fell into a depressed feebleness almost as
extreme as on the first morning of her freedom. It distressed her to be
spoken to, and her own lips were all but mute. Mr. Woodstock sometimes
sat by her whilst she slept, or seemed to be sleeping; when she stirred
and showed consciousness of his presence, he left her, so great was his
fear of annoying her, and thus losing the ground he had gained. Once,
when he was rising to quit the room, Ida held out her hand as if to
stay him. She was lying on a sofa, and had enjoyed a very quiet sleep.

"Grandfather," she murmured, turning to face him. It was the first time
she had addressed him thus, and the old man's eyes brightened at the
sound.

"Are you better for the sleep, Ida?" he asked, taking the hand she had
extended.

"Much; much better.