one died: a dull house, an
inconvenient house, of which one knew all the defects, the shabbinesses,
the discomforts, but to which one was so used that one could hardly,
after so long a time, think one's self away from it without suffering a
certain loss of identity.

Now, as it lay before her in the autumn mildness, its mistress was
surprised at her own insensibility. She had been trying to see the
house through the eyes of an old friend who, the next morning, would be
driving up to it for the first time; and in so doing she seemed to be
opening her own eyes upon it after a long interval of blindness.

The court was very still, yet full of a latent life: the wheeling and
rustling of pigeons about the rectangular yews and across the sunny
gravel; the sweep of rooks above the lustrous greyish-purple slates of
the roof, and the stir of the tree-tops as they met the breeze which
every day, at that hour, came punctually up from the river.

Just such a latent animation glowed in Anna Leath. In every nerve and
vein she was conscious of that equipoise of bliss which the fearful
human heart scarce dares acknowledge. She was not used to strong or
full emotions; but she had always known that she should not be afraid of
them. She was not afraid now; but she felt a deep inward stillness.

The immediate effect of the feeling had been to send her forth in quest
of her step-son. She wanted to stroll back with him and have a quiet
talk before they re-entered the house. It was always easy to talk to
him, and at this moment he was the one person to whom she could have
spoken without fear of disturbing her inner stillness. She was glad, for
all sorts of reasons, that Madame de Chantelle and Effie were still
at Ouchy with the governess, and that she and Owen had the house to
themselves. And she was glad that even he was not yet in sight. She
wanted to be alone a little longer; not to think, but to let the long
slow waves of joy break over her one by one.

She walked out of the court and sat down on one of the benches that
bordered the drive. From her seat she had a diagonal view of the long
house-front and of the domed chapel terminating one of the wings. Beyond
a gate in the court-yard wall the flower-garden drew its dark-green
squares and raised its statues against the yellowing background of the
park. In the borders only a few late pinks and crimsons smouldered,
but a peacock strutting in the sun seemed to have gathered into his
out