have left
the Cottage in an agent's hands with the hope of letting it. Windyhill
is such a healthy place that I hope somebody will soon be found to take
it. You know Elinor would not let me make any explanation. And the
constant questions and allusions to _his_ movements which people had
seen in the papers, and so forth, had got on her nerves, poor child. You
can understand how easily this might come about. At last she got that
she could not bear it longer. Mary Dale, who always lives half the year
with her sister at the Rectory, was coming back. You know it was she who
brought the first tale about him, and she knows, I think, all the gossip
that ever was got up about any one. Poor Elinor--though I don't believe
Mary had any bad meaning; and it would, alas! have been for all our good
had we listened to what she said--Elinor cannot bear her; and when she
heard she was coming, she declared she would take her baby and go away.
I tried to bring her to reason, but I could not. Naturally it was she
who convinced me--you know the process, John. Indeed, in many things I
can see it is the best thing we could do. I am not supremely attached to
Windyhill. The Cottage had got to be very homelike after living in it so
long, but home is where those are whom one loves. And to live among one
set of people for so many years, if it has great advantages, has at the
same time very great disadvantages too. You can't keep anything to
yourself. You must explain every step you take, and everything that
happens to you. This is a lovely country, a little cold as yet, and a
little damp perhaps, being so near the lake--but the mountains are
beautiful, and the air delicious. Elinor is out all the day long, and
baby grows like a flower. You must come and see us as soon as ever you
can. That is one dreadful drawback, that we shall not have you running
up and down from Saturday to Monday: and I am afraid you will be vexed
with us that we did not take your advice first--you, who have always
been our adviser. But Elinor would not hear a word of any advice. I
think she was afraid you would disapprove: and it would have been worse
to fly in your face if you had disapproved than to come away without
consulting you: and you know how impetuous she is. At all events the die
is cast. Write kindly to her; don't say anything to vex her. You can let
yourself out, if you are very angry, upon me.

"One thing more. She desires that if you write you should address her