In the spring, Colonel Carruthers and his granddaughter, accompanied by Miss Durrant, came to Rayleigh.
The colonel's house was at some distance from the vicarage, at the opposite end of the village. It was an old-fashioned thatched house, with a flower garden in front of it. A fir plantation stretched to the right, and behind, just beyond the well-stocked kitchen garden, rose a bit of breezy, furzy common, the top of which commanded a view all over the village.
Looking down, one saw the river stealing along the meadows with a gentle curve, now to this side and now to that, till it reached the large stone buildings, pierced by numerous small windows, where so many hands were employed in paper-making. Near the mill stood a large house, also of stone, and an imposing structure in its way, with bay windows and turrets. This was the residence which the owner of the mill had built for himself. Observing the house and the well-laid-out gardens which surrounded it, one could hardly doubt that the business was a prosperous concern.
Yet, if rumour could be trusted, the mill had not paid well of late, and the proprietor was beset by difficulties. It was feared that a day might come when the working of the mill would be suspended; an event which threatened ruin to the hands employed. But months had passed since these rumours began to circulate, and the mill had gone on working all the same. And now that the winter was over, and signals of summer's approach were beginning to appear everywhere, anxiety ceased to burden the minds of the working folk.
On the April evening following that of their arrival at Rayleigh, Edith and her grandfather were walking across the common, enjoying the beauty of the sunset, when Mr. Mouncey climbed over the low stone wall, accompanied by two or three of his boys, Gus being one of the party. It was the colonel's first meeting with the vicar, and he greeted him heartily.
"This is never Gus," said Edith, turning to look at the boys, when she had shaken hands with the clergyman.
The boy had indeed greatly changed since she saw him. He had grown taller, and though slender, looked strong and well-formed. His hair, though closely cut, still showed a tendency to curl; his cheeks had now the bright hue of health; his eyes were blue as ever, and the smile which lit up his face as Edith spoke to him had all the old sweetness. But whilst it was the same sweet, boyish face, the seriousness of its expression had deepened. Gus had learned much and thought much since he left London, and his countenance revealed the quickened mental and spiritual life.
The colonel had nodded kindly to Gus. His eyes now took quick, observant survey of the boy as he stood talking to Edith. His glance seemed to sadden as it rested on the child.
"He has improved," he remarked in an undertone. "What do you think of him, Mouncey? How will he do?"
"Well," was the prompt reply; "I have not a doubt of it. I never had such a boy as Gus in my home before."