"SIR,—Rose and I are agreed to defer to your judgment and obey your wishes. Be pleased to let me know what day you will require us; and I must trouble you to send a carriage.
"I am, sir,
"Your faithful Wife, and humble Servant,
"CATHERINE GAUNT."
At the appointed day, a carriage and four came wheeling up to the door. The vehicle was gorgeously emblazoned, and the servants in rich liveries; all which finery glittering in the sun, and the glossy coats of the horses, did mightily please Mistress Rose. She stood on the stone steps, and clapped her hands with delight. Her mother just sighed, and said, "Ay, 'tis in pomp and show we must seek our happiness now."
She leaned back in the carriage, and closed her eyes, yet not so close but now and then a tear would steal out, as she thought of the past.
They drove up under an avenue to a noble mansion; and landed at the foot of some marble steps, low and narrow, but of vast breadth.
As they mounted these, a hall door, through which the carriage could have passed, was flung open, and discovered the servants all drawn up to do honor to their mistress.
She entered the hall, leading Rose by the hand, the servants bowed and curtsied down to the ground.
She received this homage with dignified courtesy, and her eye stole round to see if the master of the house was coming to receive her.
The library door was opened hastily, and out came to meet her—Father Francis.
"Welcome, madam, a thousand times welcome to your new home," said he, in a stentorian voice, with a double infusion of geniality. "I claim the honour of showing you your part of the house, though 'tis all yours for that matter." And he led the way.
Now this cheerful stentorian voice was just a little shaky for once, and his eyes were moist.