“My wife will amuse her. I can take her, together with her sister, to have a look at Courtney Grange to-morrow.”
Half an hour later the vicar and I were walking briskly toward my old home, and I was feeling happy at the mere sight of the waving corn-fields and smiling hedge-rows which stretched on our right hand, in vivid contrast to the semi-barrenness and sober but quaint coloring of the moorland on our left. I found it impossible to pass all the floral treasures which greeted me by the way, and my heart presently grew heavy at the thought that it might possibly be years before I was able to gather another bunch of wild flowers on my native heath. When the chimneys of the Grange came in sight, I had a fierce battle to fight with my avowed determination not to enter its doors again, and I found that sentiment was, after all, a much stronger passion in me than wounded pride.
“Oh, I must run in and see Martha,” I exclaimed, when at last we emerged from the long avenue. “Do wait a minute here, while I run round to the back and give her a surprise.”
Suiting the action to the word, I left the good-natured vicar to his own devices, while I hurried round to the kitchen entrance, anxious to see Martha at her usual avocations, in order that I might fancy this hurried visit to my home more homelike. Somewhat to my disappointment, Martha was not half so surprised as I had fancied she would be.
“Eh! is that you, Miss Dora?” she exclaimed, dropping the potato she was peeling, as I impetuously sprang into the kitchen and gave her a warm greeting. “I thought maybe you would come to-day; and you’ll find your room quite ready for you.”
“But how could you know I was coming?” I inquired blankly. “I never sent you word that you might expect me.”
“No, but Mr. Courtney did. We got a letter from him this morning. Here it is.”
I took the letter, which she pulled out of her pocket for me, and read it, feeling as if all the romance were knocked out of me again.
“Prepare Miss Dora’s room. If she is not already at the Grange, you may expect her soon.”
That was all, and I could not help a slight feeling of vexation at its tenor. True, it implied that my father had not really intended to banish me altogether. But it also evinced such a determination to ignore any mental distress in which I might be submerged that it convinced me more than ever of the hopelessness of ever expecting my father to show the least spark of true affection for me.