orld had grown black--the sun
seemed to be scarcely shining. Were those the sounds of children's
voices on the hill, the rumbling of a cart--or was it all sight and
sound alike, mirage and delirium?

With difficulty, leaning on his stick as though he were a man of
seventy, he groped his way back to the Park. There he sank down, still
gasping, among the roots of one of the great cedars near the gate. After
a while the attack passed off and he found himself able to walk on. But
the joy, the leaping pulse of half an hour ago, were gone from his
veins. Was that the river--the house? He looked at them with dull eyes.
All the light was lowered. A veil seemed to lie between him and the
familiar things.

However, by the time he reached the door of the Hall will and nature had
reasserted themselves, and he knew where he was and what he had to do.

Vincent flung the door open with his old lordly air.

'Why, sir! _Mr._ Elsmere!'

The butler's voice began on a note of joyful surprise, sliding at once
into one of alarm. He stood and stared at this ghost of the old rector.

Elsmere grasped his hand, and asked him to take him into the dining-room
and give him some wine before announcing him. Vincent ministered to him
with a long face, pressing all the alcoholic resources of the Hall upon
him in turn. The squire was much better, he declared, and had been
carried down to the library.

'But, lor, sir, there ain't much to be said for your looks
neither--seems as if London didn't suit you, sir.'

Elsmere explained feebly that he had been suffering from his throat, and
had overtired himself by walking over the common. Then, recognising from
a distorted vision of himself in a Venetian mirror hanging by that
something of his natural colour had returned to him, he rose and bade
Vincent announce him.

'And Mrs. Darcy?' he asked, as they stepped out into the hall again.

'Oh, Mrs. Darcy, sir, she's very well,' said the man, but, as it seemed
to Robert, with something of an embarrassed air.

He followed Vincent down the long passage--haunted by old memories, by
the old sickening sense of mental anguish--to the curtained door.
Vincent ushered him in. There was a stir of feet, and a voice, but at
first he saw nothing. The room was very much darkened. Then Meyrick
emerged into distinctness.

'Squire, here _is_ Mr. Elsmere! Well, Mr. Elsmere, sir, I'm sure we're
very much obliged to you for meeting the squire's wishes so promptly.
You'