Over the pavement they rattled, meeting carriages rolling in all directions—for it was about the dinner-hour, and in the height of the season; and it was the casual but vivid evidence thus afforded of their desolate position, this sudden glimpse of old familiar scenes, which had momentarily overcome the fortitude of Miss Aubrey. They drove to a quiet family hotel in a retired street running parallel with Piccadilly; they were all wearied, both in mind and body, and after a very slight repast, and much anxious and desponding conversation, they bade each other affectionate adieus, and retired to rest. They rose in the morning refreshed with repose, and in a much more tranquil mood of mind than could have been expected.
"Now we enter," said Aubrey, with a cheerful smile, "upon the real business of life; so we must discard sentiment—we must not think of the past, but the future."
At their request, they, shortly after breakfast, accompanied him to the house agent who had been commissioned by Mr. Runnington to look out two or three residences from which, on their arrival in town, they might easily select that deemed most suitable for their purposes. One was particularly recommended to them; and after due inquiry, within three days after their arrival in town, they engaged it. 'Twas a small, but convenient, airy, and comfortable house, within five minutes' walk of Hyde Park, and situated in Vivian Street—a recently completed one—and as quiet and retired as they could have wished. The rent, too, was moderate—fifty pounds a-year. Though none of the houses in the street were large, they were all strictly private residences, and had an air of thorough respectability. Mr. Aubrey's house had but one window to the dining-room, and two to the drawing-room. The passage and staircase were sufficiently commodious, as were the chief apartments. At the back of the house was a small garden, about twenty yards in length, and about ten yards in width, with several lilacs, laburnums, and shrubs; and a considerable portion of the wall was covered with ivy. Was not this a delightful place for the children to play about in? The back parlor, a somewhat small one certainly, looked into this garden, and was at once appropriated to be a library for Mr. Aubrey. Within a week's time, all their luggage, furniture, &c., had arrived in town from Yatton; and they had quite sufficient to furnish their little residence out of the wreck of the equipments of the old Hall—adapted as it was, under the tasteful superintendence of Mrs. and Miss Aubrey, with equal regard to elegance, simplicity, and economy. How busy were they all for a fortnight! Many and many an irrepressible sigh, and rebellious tear, would the sight of these old familiar objects, in their new situation, occasion them! Some half dozen family pictures hung upon the wall. Over the mantel-piece was suspended a piece of beautiful embroidery—by poor old Mrs. Aubrey, many years before—of the arms of the family. In the dining-room was the old high-backed chair in which she had sat for twenty years and more. In the drawing-room was Miss Aubrey's favorite ebony inlaid cabinet, and Mrs. Aubrey's piano; and, in short, everywhere might be seen the delicate traces of dear, dear, graceful, and elegant woman—touching nothing that she adorns not! What with the silk curtains, and a carpet of simple but tasteful pattern, and the various articles of furniture and ornament, all possessing a kind of old family air—all from Yatton, I declare there was a sort of richness about the general aspect of the drawing-room; and when Mrs. Aubrey and Kate came to fetch Mr. Aubrey out of his little library to witness the completion of their labors, he gazed round him for a while, looked at each object, and then at the two dear fond beings standing beside him, awaiting his opinion with womanly eagerness; but he could not express his feelings. He kissed each of them very tenderly and in silence, and then they were a little overcome. His library, also, though very small, was as snug and comfortable as a bookworm could have desired. All the sides were covered with books, and in the middle were the library-table and armchair which he had used in Grosvenor Street, and which were, it must be owned, on too large a scale for the little room to which they had been removed.
That this oppressed family were not incessantly and very painfully reminded of the contrast afforded by their present to their former circumstances, I do not pretend to assert; but it very, very seldom formed a topic of conversation between any of them. When, however, the little bustle and occupation of arranging their house was over, and Mrs. Aubrey and Kate were left a good deal to themselves—Mr. Aubrey being either absent from home, or in his library, engaged in matters of the last importance to them all—then they would talk together with increasing eagerness and excitement about past times, and their recent troubles and bereavements; not displaying then—sweet souls!—quite that degree of resignation and fortitude which they strove to exhibit in the presence of Mr. Aubrey.
"Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them soon."
They passed a good deal of their time in-doors in needlework,
practical
family needlework, an art in which they were not particularly accomplished, but which they quickly acquired from a seamstress whom they kept engaged constantly in the house for several weeks. Then sometimes they would sit down to the piano; at other times they would read—on all occasions, however, frequently falling into conversation on the all-engrossing topic of their expulsion from Yatton. Now and then, they could scarcely refrain from a melancholy smile, when they remarked upon their shrunken personal importance. "Really, Agnes," said one day Miss Aubrey, "I feel just as one can fancy a few poor newly shorn sheep must feel! So light and cold! So much
less
than they were half an hour before! Surely they must hardly know what to make of themselves!"