The great baronial hall was not brightened with flowers or green boughs. The oaken floor, black as ebony, was polished like jet. The black, wainscoted walls, hung with ancient pictures, glittering shields, a few fowling pieces, a stag’s head with antlers, an ancient boar’s head, and other treasures, was wide, cool and hospitable. No servants were gathered here, although Neva looked for them and was disappointed in not seeing them. Most of the servants had been at Hawkhurst for many years, and Neva regarded them as old friends.
It had been the wish of the butler and housekeeper to marshal their subordinates in the great hall to welcome their young mistress, but Lady Wynde, hearing of their design, had peremptorily forbidden it, with the remark that until she came of age, Miss Wynde would not be mistress of Hawkhurst. And therefore no alternative had remained for the butler and housekeeper but to smother their indignation and submit to Lady Wynde’s decree.
Mrs. Artress flung open the door of the drawing-room with an excessive politeness and said:
“Be kind enough to enter, Miss Wynde, and make yourself comfortable while I inform Lady Wynde of your arrival.”
“I am not a guest in my own home, and I decline to be treated as one,” said Neva quietly. “I presume my rooms are ready, and I will go up to them immediately.”
“I am not positive,” said Artress hesitatingly, “as to the rooms Lady Wynde has ordered to be made ready for your use. I will ring and see.”
“Thank you, but I won’t put you to the trouble. I shall resume possession of my old rooms, whatever rooms may have been made ready,” said Neva half haughtily.
Her cheeks burned with a sense of indignation and annoyance at the strangeness of her reception. She had not wished for the rejoicings her father had once planned for her, but she had entered her own house precisely as some hireling might have done, with no one to receive or greet her, no one to care if she had come. She turned away to ascend the stairs, but paused with her foot on the lowest step as a door at the further end of the hall opened, and the housekeeper, rosy and rotund, with cap ribbons flying, came rushing forward with outstretched arms.
“Oh, my dear Miss Neva,” cried the good woman, who had known and loved the baronet’s daughter from her birth. “Welcome home, my sweet lamb! How you have grown—so tall, so beautiful, so bright and sweet!”
“You dear old Hopper!” exclaimed Neva, springing forward and embracing the good woman with girlish fervor. “I began to think I must have entered a strange house. I am so glad to see you!”