I now busied myself in preparations:  the fortnight passed rapidly.  I had not a very large wardrobe, though it was adequate to my wants; and the last day sufficed to pack my trunk, —­ the same I had brought with me eight years ago from Gateshead.

The box was corded, the card nailed on.  In half-an-hour the carrier was to call for it to take it to Lowton, whither I myself was to repair at an early hour the next morning to meet the coach.  I had brushed my black stuff travelling-dress, prepared my bonnet, gloves, and muff; sought in all my drawers to see that no article was left behind; and now having nothing more to do, I sat down and tried to rest.  I could not; though I had been on foot all day, I could not now repose an instant; I was too much excited.  A phase of my life was closing to-night, a new one opening to-morrow:  impossible to slumber in the interval; I must watch feverishly while the change was being accomplished.

“Miss,” said a servant who met me in the lobby, where I was wandering like a troubled spirit, “a person below wishes to see you.”

“The carrier, no doubt,” I thought, and ran downstairs without inquiry.  I was passing the back-parlour or teachers’ sitting-room, the door of which was half open, to go to the kitchen, when some one ran out —

“It’s her, I am sure! —­ I could have told her anywhere!” cried the individual who stopped my progress and took my hand.

I looked:  I saw a woman attired like a well-dressed servant, matronly, yet still young; very good-looking, with black hair and eyes, and lively complexion.

“Well, who is it?” she asked, in a voice and with a smile I half recognised; “you’ve not quite forgotten me, I think, Miss Jane?”

In another second I was embracing and kissing her rapturously:  “Bessie!  Bessie!  Bessie!” that was all I said; whereat she half laughed, half cried, and we both went into the parlour.  By the fire stood a little fellow of three years old, in plaid frock and trousers.

“That is my little boy,” said Bessie directly.

“Then you are married, Bessie?”

“Yes; nearly five years since to Robert Leaven, the coachman; and I’ve a little girl besides Bobby there, that I’ve christened Jane.”

“And you don’t live at Gateshead?”

“I live at the lodge:  the old porter has left.”

“Well, and how do they all get on?  Tell me everything about them, Bessie:  but sit down first; and, Bobby, come and sit on my knee, will you?” but Bobby preferred sidling over to his mother.

“You’re not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so very stout,” continued Mrs. Leaven.  “I dare say they’ve not kept you too well at school:  Miss Reed is the head and shoulders taller than you are; and Miss Georgiana would make two of you in breadth.”

“Georgiana is handsome, I suppose, Bessie?”