ou speak
mildly?'

'I suppose I speak as I feel. I'm a plain speaker, a plain person. You
don't give me an easy task, friend Harry.'

'If you believe in his generosity, Janet, should you be afraid to put it
to proof?'

'Grandada's generosity, Harry? I do believe in it as I believe in my own
life. It happens to be the very thing I must keep myself from rousing
in him, to be of any service to you. Look at the old house!' She changed
her tone. 'Looking on old Riversley with the eyes of my head even, I
think I'm looking at something far away in the memory. Perhaps the deep
red brick causes it. There never was a house with so many beautiful
creepers. Bright as they are, you notice the roses on the wall. There's
a face for me forever from every window; and good-bye, Riversley! Harry,
I'll obey your wishes.'

So saying, she headed me, trotting down the heath-track.

CHAPTER XXXVII. JANET RENOUNCES ME

An illness of old Sewis, the butler,--amazingly resembling a sick monkey
in his bed,--kept me from paying a visit to Temple and seeing my father
for several weeks, during which time Janet loyally accustomed the
squire to hear of the German princess, and she did it with a decent
and agreeable cheerfulness that I quite approved of. I should have
been enraged at a martyr-like appearance on her part, for I demanded a
sprightly devotion to my interests, considering love so holy a thing,
that where it existed, all surrounding persons were bound to do it
homage and service. We were thrown together a great deal in attending
on poor old Sewis, who would lie on his pillows recounting for hours
my father's midnight summons of the inhabitants of Riversley, and his
little Harry's infant expedition into the world. Temple and Heriot came
to stay at the Grange, and assisted in some rough scene-painting--torrid
colours representing the island of Jamaica. We hung it at the foot of
old Sewis's bed. He awoke and contemplated it, and went downstairs
the same day, cured, he declared: the fact being that the unfortunate
picture testified too strongly to the reversal of all he was used to in
life, in having those he served to wait on him. The squire celebrated
his recovery by giving a servants' ball. Sewis danced with the
handsomest lass, swung her to supper, and delivered an extraordinary
speech, entirely concerning me, and rather to my discomposure,
particularly so when it was my fate to hear that the old man had made
me the heir of his