Maurice had telegraphed from Liverpool, and the old-fashioned carriage from Hunsdon met them at the last railway station. It was near sunset, and under a clear sky the soft rich green of the grass gleamed out with the brightness of spring. They soon turned into the park, and the house itself began to be visible through the budding, but still leafless, trees. Both father and son were silent. To the one, every foot of the road they traversed was haunted by the memories of thirty years ago; to the other, this coming home was a step towards the fulfilment of his hopes. They followed their own meditations, glad or sorrowful, until the last curve was turned, and they stopped before the great white pillars of the portico. Then Maurice remembered that this was his first coming home as master, and felt a momentary shyness take possession of him before his own new importance. He had been able during his absence to keep Hunsdon so much in the background, and to be so thoroughly the natural, portionless, Maurice Leigh. He jumped out of the carriage, however, and was too much occupied in helping his father, to think, for the next few minutes, of his own sensations at all. Then he discovered what he had not before thought about—that there were still two or three of the old servants who remembered his mother and her marriage, and who were eager to be recognised by "the Captain."

And so the coming home was got over, and Mr. Leigh was fairly settled in the house from which so long ago he had stolen away his wife. After he had once taken possession of his rooms—the very ones which had been hers,—he seemed to think no more about Canada, but to be quite content with the new link to the past which supplied the place of his accustomed associations. And, perhaps, he felt the change all the less because of that inclination to return to the recollections of youth rather than of middle age, which seems so universal with the old.

Maurice sent over a messenger to Dighton to announce their arrival, and to tell his cousin that he intended leaving home again after one day's interval. That one day was fully occupied, but, as he had half expected, in the afternoon Lady Dighton came over.

She knew already of his disappointment, and had sympathised with it. She came now with the kind intention of establishing such friendly relations with Mr. Leigh as would make Maurice more comfortable in leaving his father alone. She even proposed to carry the old man off to Dighton, but that was decided against.

"And you really start to-morrow?" she asked Maurice.

"Early to-morrow morning. I cannot imagine what the railway-makers have been thinking about; it will take me the whole day to get to Chester."

"How is that?"

"Oh! there are about a dozen changes of line, and, of course, an hour to wait each time."

"Cut off the exaggeration, and it is provoking enough. Is it in Chester this gentleman lives?"

"No, three or four miles away, I fancy. I shall have to inquire when I get there."

"And after you find him what will you do?"

"If I get their address, I shall go straight from Mr. Wynter to them, wherever they are."

"At St. Petersburg, perhaps, or Constantinople?"

"Don't, Louisa, please. I thought you had some pity for one's perplexities."

"So I have. And I believe, myself, that they are in Paris."

"I wish they may be—that is, if I get any satisfaction from my inquiries. Otherwise, Paris is not exactly a place where one would choose to set about seeking for a lost friend, especially with about half-a-dozen sentences of available French."

"Never fear. But if you should not find them, I would not mind going over for a week or two to help you; I should be of some use as an interpreter."

"Will you come? Not for that; but if I do find them, I should so like to introduce Lucia to you."

"To tell the truth, I am rather afraid of this paragon of yours; and you will be bringing her to see me."

"I am afraid I am making too sure of that without your telling me so. After all, I may have my search for nothing. I do wish very much you would come over."

"Well, at Easter we will see. Perhaps I may coax Sir John over for a week or two."

"Thank you. I shall depend on that."

"But remember you must send me word how you fare."

"I will write the moment I have anything to tell."

"Impress upon your father, Maurice, that we wish to do all we can for his comfort. I wish he would have come to us."

"I think he is better here. Everything here reminds him of my mother, and he feels at home. But I shall feel that I leave him in your hands, my kind cousin."

Maurice bade his father good-bye that night, and early next morning he started on his journey to Chester. What a journey it was! His account to Lady Dighton had been exaggerated certainly, but was not without foundation. Again and again he found himself left behind, chafing and restless, by some train which had carried him for, perhaps, an hour, and obliged to amuse himself as best he could until a fresh one came, in which he would travel another equally short stage. It was a windy, rainy day, with gleams of sunshine, but more of cloud and shower, and grew more and more stormy as it drew towards night. Before he reached Chester the wind had risen to a storm, and sheets of rain were being dashed fiercely against the carriage windows. At last they did roll into the station with as much noise and importance as if delay had been a thing undreamt of, on that line at any rate; and Maurice hurried off to make his inquiries, and find a carriage to take him to Mr. Wynter's.

So far, certainly, he prospered. He found that his destination was between four and five miles from the city, but it was perfectly well known, and a carriage was soon ready to take him on.

The road seemed very long, as an unknown road travelled in darkness and in haste generally does. The wind howled, and rattled the carriage windows, the rain still dashed against the glass with every gust, and at times the horses seemed scarcely able to keep on through the storm. At last, however, they came to a stop, and Maurice, looking out, found himself close to a lodge, from the window of which a bright gleam of light shone out across the rainy darkness. In a minute a second light came from the opening door, the great gates rolled back, and the carriage passed on into the grounds. There were large trees on both sides of the drive, just faintly visible as they swayed backwards and forwards, and then came an open space and the house itself. There was a cheerful brightness there, showing a wide old-fashioned porch, and, within, a large hall where a lamp was burning. Maurice hurried in to the porch, and had waited but a minute when a servant in a plain, sober-coloured livery came leisurely across the hall and opened the glass door, through which the visitor had been trying to get his first idea of the place and its inhabitants.

"Was Mr. Wynter in?"

"No."

"Was he expected?"

"Not to-night, certainly—perhaps not to-morrow."

"Mrs. Wynter?" That was a guess. Maurice had never troubled himself till then to think whether there was a Mrs. Wynter.

"She was at home, but engaged."

Maurice hesitated a moment. "I must see her," he thought to himself, and took heart again.

"I have made a long journey," he said, "to see Mr. Wynter; will you give my card to your mistress, and beg of her to see me for a moment?"

The man took the card and led the visitor into a small room at one side of the hall, where books and work were lying about as if it had been occupied earlier in the day, but which was empty now. Then he shut the door and carried the card into the drawing-room.

Mrs. Wynter had friends staying with her. There was a widow and her son and daughter, and one or two young people besides, as well as all the younger members of the Wynter family. The two elder ladies were having a little comfortable chat over their work, and the others were gathered round the piano, when Maurice's arrival was heard.

"Who can it be?" Mrs. Wynter said doubtfully. "It is not possible Mr. Wynter can be back to-night."

The eldest daughter came to the back of her mother's chair.

"Listen, mamma," she said; "or shall I look if it is papa?"

"No indeed, my dear. It can't be. Walter!" for one of the boys was cautiously unlatching the door, "come away, I beg."

Meanwhile all listened, so very extraordinary did it seem that anybody should come unannounced, so late, and on such a night.

Presently the door opened, and everybody's eyes, as well as ears, were in requisition, though there was only a card to exercise them on.

"A gentleman, ma'am, who says he has come a long way to see master, and would you speak to him for a moment?"

Mrs. Wynter took up the card, and her daughter read it over her shoulder.

"Leigh Beresford?" she said. "I do not know the name at all. You said Mr. Wynter was from home?"

"Yes, ma'am. The gentleman seemed very much put out, and then said could he see you?"

"I suppose he must;" and Mrs. Wynter began, rather reluctantly, to put aside her embroidery, and draw up her lace shawl around her shoulders.

"But what a pretty name! Mamma, who can he be?"

"And, mamma, if he is nice bring him in and let us all see him."

"No, don't; we don't want any strangers. What do people come after dinner for?"

Mrs. Wynter paid no attention to her daughters, but having made up her mind to it, walked composedly out of the room, and into the one where Maurice waited. She came in, a fair motherly woman, in satin and lace, with a certain soft comfortableness about her aspect which seemed an odd contrast to his impatience. He took pains to speak without hurry or excitement, but did not, perhaps, altogether succeed.

"I must beg you to pardon me this intrusion," he said. "I hoped to have found Mr. Wynter at home, and I wished to ask him a question which I have no doubt you can answer equally well if you will be so good."

"If it relates to business," Mrs. Wynter began, but Maurice interrupted,

"It is only about an address. I have just arrived in England from Canada; I am an old friend and neighbour of Mrs. Costello, and have something of importance to communicate to her, will you tell me where she is?"

Poor Maurice! he had been getting his little speech ready beforehand, and had made up his mind to speak quite coolly, but somehow the last few words seemed very much in earnest, and struck Mrs. Wynter as being so. She looked more closely at her guest.

"Mrs. Costello is in France. Did I understand that you had known her in Canada?"

"I have known her all my life. I spent the last summer and autumn in England, and did not return to Canada until after she had left, but she knew that I should have occasion to see her, or write to her as soon as I could reach home again, and I am anxious to do so now."

"You are aware that Mrs. Costello wishes to live very quietly? Her health is much broken."

"I know all. Mrs. Costello has herself told me. Pray trust me—you may, indeed."

"You will excuse my hesitation if you do know all; but, certainly, I have no authority to refuse their address."

She got up and opened a desk which stood on a table in the room. She had considered the matter while they were talking, and come to the conclusion that the address ought to be given, while at the same time she wished to know more of the person to whom she gave it.

"I wish Mr. Wynter had been at home," she said after a minute's pause, during which she was turning over the papers in the desk, and Maurice was watching her eagerly. "He would have been able to tell you something of your friends, for he only returned home a week or two ago from meeting them."

"Are they in Paris?"

"Yes. Are you returning to Canada?"

"No. Perhaps, Mrs. Wynter, you would like to have my address? My coming to you as I have done, without credentials of any sort, must certainly seem strange."

"Thank you; you will understand that I feel in some little difficulty."

"I understand perfectly." He wrote his name and address in full and gave it to her. "Mrs. Costello was a dear friend of my mother's," he said; "she has always treated me almost as a son, and I cannot help hoping that what I have to say to her may be welcome news."

"Do you expect to see her, then, or only to write?"

"I am on my way to Paris. I hope to see them."

"Here is the address. You have had a long journey, the servant told me."

"From Hunsdon. And the journey out of Norfolk into Cheshire is a tiresome one. Thank you very much. Can I take any message to Mrs. Costello?"

"None, thank you, except our kindest remembrances. But you will let me offer you something—at least a glass of wine?"

But Maurice had now got all he wanted. He just glanced at the precious paper, put it away safely, declined Mrs. Wynter's offers, and was out of the house and on his way back to Chester in a very short space of time.

"What an odd thing!" Mrs. Wynter said as she settled herself comfortably in the easy-chair again.

"Who was he, mamma? What did he want?"

"He was a Canadian friend of your cousin Mary's wanting her address."

"What! come over from Canada on purpose?"

"It almost seemed like it, though that could not be, I suppose, for here is his address—'Maurice Leigh Beresford, Hunsdon, Norfolk.'"

"Beresford?" said the widow, "Why the Beresfords of Hunsdon are great people—very grand people, indeed. I used to know something of them."

"Did he look like a grand person, mamma?"

"He seemed a gentleman, certainly. I know no more."

"Was he young or old?"

"Young."

"Handsome or ugly?"

"Need he be either?"

"Of course. Which, mamma?"

"Not ugly, decidedly. Tall, and rather dark, with a very frank, honest-looking face."

"Young, handsome, tall, dark, and honest-looking! Mamma, he's a hero of romance, especially coming as he did, in the rain and the night."

"Don't be silly, Tiny. Mamma, is not my cousin Lucia a great beauty?"