. Under Lady Cheverel's uncaressing
authoritative goodwill, Tina had always retained a certain constraint and
awe; and there was a sweetness before unknown in having a young and
gentle woman, like an elder sister, bending over her caressingly, and
speaking in low loving tones.

Maynard was almost angry with himself for feeling happy while Tina's mind
and body were still trembling on the verge of irrecoverable decline; but
the new delight of acting as her guardian angel, of being with her every
hour of the day, of devising everything for her comfort, of watching for
a ray of returning interest in her eyes, was too absorbing to leave room
for alarm or regret.

On the third day the carriage drove up to the door of Foxholm Parsonage,
where the Rev. Arthur Heron presented himself on the door-step, eager to
greet his returning Lucy, and holding by the hand a broad-chested
tawny-haired boy of five, who was smacking a miniature hunting-whip with
great vigour.

Nowhere was there a lawn more smooth-shaven, walks better swept, or a
porch more prettily festooned with creepers, than at Foxholm Parsonage,
standing snugly sheltered by beeches and chestnuts half-way down the
pretty green hill which was surmounted by the church, and overlooking a
village that straggled at its ease among pastures and meadows, surrounded
by wild hedgerows and broad shadowing trees, as yet unthreatened by
improved methods of farming.

Brightly the fire shone in the great parlour, and brightly in the little
pink bedroom, which was to be Caterina's, because it looked away from the
churchyard, and on to a farm homestead, with its little cluster of
beehive ricks, and placid groups of cows, and cheerful matin sounds of
healthy labour. Mrs. Heron, with the instinct of a delicate, impressible
woman, had written to her husband to have this room prepared for
Caterina. Contented speckled hens, industriously scratching for the
rarely-found corn, may sometimes do more for a sick heart than a grove of
nightingales; there is something irresistibly calming in the
unsentimental cheeriness of top-knotted pullets, unpetted sheep-dogs, and
patient cart-horses enjoying a drink of muddy water.

In such a home as this parsonage, a nest of comfort, without any of the
stateliness that would carry a suggestion of Cheverel Manor, Mr. Gilfil
was not unreasonable in hoping that Caterina might gradually shake off
the haunting vision of the past, and recover from the languor and