a note invited them to dinner at
the lawyer's the following day, which engagement they accepted with
pleasure. And then, till bed-time, they were busied in arranging their
goods and chattels. Mr. Peach, with thoughtful politeness, deferred
an introduction till the morning.

When it came, Cornelius made his bow, and a very awkward one it was,
to his new lodgers.

"Good morrow, Mr. Morton," he said, looking nowhere straight, but at
Helen sideways; "good morning, Miss Morton. 'Pack clouds away, and
welcome day,' I trust you have rested well. Some never can sleep in a
strange bed. Yours I hope will not have that fault long."

Randolph thanked him: they had slept very well.

"Ah, Miss Morton," continued the landlord, "I would you had come
earlier in the year. The fall is a sad season. Nothing in the garden
but Michaelmas daisies, those miserable old bachelors of flowers; and
a few chrysanthemums, the showy old maids. You will never be a
chrysanthemum, Miss Morton."

The ponderous machine which called at the cottage every morning to
convey Mr. Peach to the city, was now heard lumbering along the lane,
and the jocund little man took his departure.

So far Randolph and Helen had scarcely found time to breathe, much
less to think; but when they strolled out upon the heath in the course
of the day, reflections came crowding upon their minds. The foundation
of the aerial castle was fairly laid: did it promise as well, as when
viewed from Merlin's Cave? Not quite perhaps. Something grated on
their feelings; it might be they missed the sound of the sea; it might
be the flurry through which they had passed; it might be such a trifle
as the oddities of their host and hostess. The total disruption of all
their old habits was more violent than they had expected. They
experienced a vague uneasiness. They almost began to regret the calm
of Trevethlan Castle. And when they gazed down upon the vast city,
veiled by the clouds that roll continually from its myriad hearths,
through which the dome of St. Paul's loomed in exaggerated dimensions,
it must be confessed that their vision of the future wore a doubtful
and variable hue. Their looks were downcast; gravity took the place of
animation in their faces; and it was with some anxiety that they set
forth on their way to the Elms.

This feeling was soon charmed away by the perfect quiet of their
reception. Mr. Winter at Lincoln's Inn, and Mr. Winter at Hampstead,
were very different m