haps it would have affected her strongly, with all
her real joy at Cecily's installation; but there were new things before
her that filled her mind too full for regrets for the rooms where she had
grown up. She only did her duty scrupulously by Cecily's writing-table,
piano, and pictures, and then satisfied the housekeeper by a brief
inspection of the rooms, more laudatory than particular. She rather
pitied Cecily, after her comfortable parsonage, for coming to all those
state drawing-rooms. If it had been the west wing, now!

By this time the snow was thicker, and the park beginning to whiten. The
housekeeper begged her to wait and order out the carriage, but she
disliked giving trouble, and thought that an unexpected summons might be
tardy of fulfilment, so she insisted on confronting the elements,
confident in her cloak and india-rubber boots, and secretly hoping that
the visitor at the cottage might linger on into the twilight.

As she came beyond the pillars of the portico, such a whirl of snow met
her that she almost questioned the prudence of her decision, when a voice
said, 'It is only the drift round the corner of the house.'

'You here?'

'Your sister gave me leave to come and see you home through the
snow-storm.'

'Oh, thank you! This is the first time you have been here,' she added,
feeling as if her first words had been too eagerly glad.

'Yes, I have only seen the house from a distance before. I did not know
how large it was. Which part did you inhabit?'

'There--the west wing--shut up now, poor thing!'

'And where was the window where you saw the horse and cart? Yes, you see
I know that story; which was your window?'

'The nearest to the main body of the house. Ah! it is a dear old window.
I have seen many better things from it than that!'

'What kind of things?'

'Sunsets and moonsets, and the Holt firs best of all.'

'Yes, I know better now what you meant by owing all to Miss Charlecote,'
he said, smiling. 'I owe something to her, too.'

'Oh, is she going to help you on?' cried Phoebe.

'No, I do not need that. What I owe to her is--knowing you.'

It had come, then! The first moment of full assurance of what had
gleamed before; and yet the shock, sweet as it was, was almost pain, and
Phoebe's heart beat fast, and her downcast look betrayed that the full
force of his words--and still more, of his tone--had reached her.

'May I go on?' he said. 'May I dare to tell you what y