ed to it; but he did not live long to enjoy it, you
know. He died nearly thirty years ago. I meant to sell it, but somehow
I did not, and now I hope to end my days here. It is not nearly as big
as it looks, and a good deal of it consists of unused granaries and
farm buildings. I sometimes think it is selfish of me to go on
occupying it--it's a house that wants CHILDREN; but one isn't very
consistent; and somehow the house is used to me, and I to it; and,
after all, it is only waiting, which isn't the worst thing in the
world!"

When Howard found an opportunity of scrutinising his aunt, which he did
as she poured out tea, he saw a very charming old lady, who was not
exactly handsome, but was fresh-coloured and silvery-haired, and had a
look of the most entire tranquillity and self-possession. She looked as
if she had met and faced trouble at some bygone time; there were traces
of sorrow about the brow and eyes, but it was a face which seemed as if
self had somehow passed out of it, and was yet strong with a peculiar
kind of fearless strength. She had a lazy and contented sort of laugh,
and yet gave an impression of energy, and of a very real and vivid
life. Her eyes had a great softness and brilliancy, and Howard liked to
feel them dwelling upon him. As they sat at tea she suddenly put her
hand on his and said, "My dear boy, how you remind me of your mother! I
suppose you hardly even remember her as a young woman; but though you
are half hidden in that beard of yours, you are somehow just like her,
and I feel as if I were in the schoolroom again at Hunsdon in the old
days. No, I am not sentimental. I don't want it back again, and I don't
hate the death that parts us. One can't go back, one must go
forward--and, after all, hearts were made to love with, and not to
break!"

They spent a quiet evening in the still house. Mrs. Graves said to
Howard, "I know that men always want to go and do something mysterious
after tea; but to-night you must just sit here and get used to me. You
needn't be afraid of having to see too much of me. I don't appear
before luncheon, and Jane looks after me; and you must get some
exercise in the afternoons. I don't go further than the village. I
expect you have lectures to write; and you must do exactly what you
like." They sat there, in the low panelled room, and talked easily
about old recollections. They dined in simple state in the big hall
with its little gallery, at a round table in the c