To live as she pleased and where she pleased, to go back to the old home, every corner of which was so dear to her! Such a dream filled her with unreasonable happiness; she threw out her hands as though she was throwing off a burden, and she said softly, though aloud: "I will believe it! I do believe it! it will help me!"
Jean announced the dinner, and was pleased to see her mistress looking brighter and happier than she had looked since she knew that she had to leave Inchbrae. Her satisfaction was extreme, for the thought, not very unnaturally, came to her, that the fact of her going with her mistress was sufficient to account for it, and she scrupulously performed the small services required of her with an increased attention. She always felt as though she had charge of her mistress—now she felt as though in some way that charge was increased.
The morning was unpromising. The wind was high, and the rain, only for that reason, was not a downpour, but blew in fitful gusts against "all corners of the house at once," Jean declared. She was meditating the possibility of putting off the journey, and spoke to Mrs. Dorriman about it.
Mrs. Dorriman was standing irresolutely at one of the windows when a dogcart appeared in the short avenue, and in another moment two men dismounted, rang the bell, and walked into the little hall.
Jean with all the air of outraged dignity appeared upon the scene, and was greeted by these words,
"We have come to take possession for the new proprietor; send some one to take the horse round and get some breakfast ready immediately."
Jean would not trust herself to speak; she went past them straight up to Mrs. Dorriman's room. She found her mistress pale but composed, dressed for her journey with her bonnet on. She began to speak but was hushed by an uplifted hand.
"Come, Jean, we will go," she said.
The noise of the two descending the wooden staircase brought the men into the hall, and Mrs. Dorriman's pale composure awed them a little.
Before they had time to speak she spoke to them.