For some time Thorsby remained at the Grange, and only ventured to take the secluded path in the dusk of evening towards Cotmanhaye Manor, where he was cordially received. The letters he had written to Letty, and the altered appearance of his person, where the solidity of middle age seemed to reign, and the subdued tone of his mind, had produced a great revulsion in his favour. It was some weeks before Letty could inspirit him to face Castleborough and all the comments of his old townsmen, but at length even this was effected; and people saw with astonishment Thorsby going with sober steps from his house to his warehouse. The surprise of this re-appearance was extreme; and afforded subject for abundance of discussion. Thorsby sought no recognition from his old acquaintances; when he met them, spoke passingly to them; and when anyone offered him a hand he took it cordially; but there was a gravity about him that strangely impressed even those of the greatest levity. He looked like a man who had passed through some severe furnace of affliction, some profound trouble of which the shadow still haunted him. All thought he looked ten years older; and by degrees his steady devotion to business, and the assurances of Mr. Barnesdale that he was a wonderfully changed man, began to give him a new status in public opinion. His wife seemed as happy as if no grief had ever passed over her, and she and her husband, with their now lovely flaxen-curled little boy between them, might be seen driving after business hours towards Woodburn. There it was that Thorsby seemed most at home, except in his own house. He felt deeply grateful for the kind reception he had met from every one of the family, and was very anxious to contribute all he could towards diverting that load of melancholy which weighed more and more on the spirits of Mr. Woodburn.
It was on a beautiful morning in August that Mr. and Mrs. Woodburn, George and Letty were sitting in the cool old house-place. Breakfast was just over, and Letty had nodded a loving greeting to her husband as he rode past the front garden on his way to business, holding up in her arms little Leonard, to make his greetings with a pair of little chubby but active hands. George had taken down the Bible, for they had adopted the custom of the Friends of Fair Manor, of reading a chapter after breakfast. He had just commenced the reading of the twelfth chapter of St. Luke, and reached the second verse,—“For there is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; neither hid, that shall not be known.”
Mr. Woodburn did not wait for the conclusion of the reading, but said, “Ay, see there now! that is one of those promises which are so freely made in these Gospels, and that are not fulfilled. We know that too well.”
George paused, and was about to go on again, for such remarks were too frequent from Mr. Woodburn to be immediately replied to, when there came the postman’s rat-tat at the door, and Letty sprung up with all a woman’s eagerness for letters, opened the door and took in a letter. She looked at it a moment, and said,
“For you, dear George. Bless me, a ship letter, and, as I live, from Dr. Leroy! Why, that is the first news of him that has reached England, so far as I know.”
She handed it to George, who began running it over to himself.
“He is well, I hope,” said two or three voices at once.
“But I have scarcely read a line,” said George. “How can I tell? You will hear all presently. It is dated from on board the Aurungzebe, in the Hoogly. Yes, he says he is quite well.” And George read on in silence again. Suddenly they saw a deeper interest expressed in his face. He read on with a sort of hurrying avidity.
“What is it? What is it?” asked the impatient Letty.
“What is it?” said George. “It is most extraordinary, and yet it is only a dream.”