old caretaker still lived there. Egremont found that she had in truth
nowhere else to go, and as it was desirable that someone should remain
upon the premises, he engaged her to do so until the Grails entered
into possession.

As soon as painters, plasterers, and paperhangers were out of the way,
Grail and Thyrza went to the house to decide what furniture it would be
necessary to buy. The outlay was to be as little as possible, for
indeed there was but little money to spend. Mrs. Butterfield--that was
the old woman's name--admitted them, but without speaking; when Gilbert
made some kindly-meant remark about its being disagreeable for her to
live in such a strong odour of paint, she muttered inarticulately and
withdrew into the kitchen. Thyrza presently peeped into that room. The
old woman was sitting on a low stool by the fire, her knees up to her
chin, her grizzled hair unkempt; she looked so remarkably like a witch,
and, on Thyrza's appearance, turned with a gaze of such extreme
malignity, that the girl drew back in fear.

'I suppose she takes it ill that the old state of things has been
disturbed,' Gilbert said. 'Mr. Egremont tells me he has found that she
is to have a small weekly allowance from the chapel people, so I don't
suppose she'll fall into want, and we know he wouldn't send her off to
starve; that isn't his way.'

The removal of such things as were to be brought from Walnut Tree Walk,
and the housing of the new furniture, would take only a couple of days.
This was to be done immediately before the wedding; then Lydia and Mrs.
Grail would live in the house whilst the husband and wife were away.

Egremont found that the large school-room would be ready sooner than he
had anticipated. When it was cleaned out, there was nothing to do save
to fix shelves, a small counter, and two long tables. For some time he
had been making extensive purchases of books, for the most part from a
secondhand dealer, who warehoused his volumes for him till the library
should be prepared to receive them. He had drawn up, too, a skeleton
catalogue, but this could not be proceeded with before the books were
in some sort of order upon the shelves. He was nervously impatient to
reach this stage. Since his last visit to Eastbourne he had seen no
friends in civilised London, and now that he had no longer lectures to
write, his state of mind grew ever more unsatisfactory. Loneliness,
though to so great an extent self-imposed, weighed