“Having relieved my mind of this confession, I may now come to the proper object of my letter.  I promised, if you could not find leisure time to visit us to-day, to write and tell you all that happened after you left us.  The day has passed without our seeing you.  So I open my writing-case and perform my promise.

“I am sorry to say that three of the women-servants—­the house-maid, the kitchen-maid, and even our own maid (to whom I am sure we have always been kind)—­took advantage of your having paid them their wages to pack up and go as soon as your back was turned.  They came to say good-by with as much ceremony and as little feeling as if they were leaving the house under ordinary circumstances.  The cook, for all her violent temper, behaved very differently:  she sent up a message to say that she would stop and help us to the last.  And Thomas (who has never yet been in any other place than ours) spoke so gratefully of my dear father’s unvarying kindness to him, and asked so anxiously to be allowed to go on serving us while his little savings lasted, that Magdalen and I forgot all formal considerations and both shook hands with him.  The poor lad went out of the room crying.  I wish him well; I hope he will find a kind master and a good place.

“The long, quiet, rainy evening out-of-doors—­our last evening at Combe-Raven—­was a sad trial to us.  I think winter-time would have weighed less on our spirits; the drawn curtains and the bright lamps, and the companionable fires would have helped us.  We were only five in the house altogether—­after having once been so many!  I can’t tell you how dreary the gray daylight looked, toward seven o’clock, in the lonely rooms, and on the noiseless staircase.  Surely, the prejudice in favor of long summer evenings is the prejudice of happy people?  We did our best.  We kept ourselves employed, and Miss Garth helped us.  The prospect of preparing for our departure, which had seemed so dreadful earlier in the day, altered into the prospect of a refuge from ourselves as the evening came on.  We each tried at first to pack up in our own rooms—­but the loneliness was more than we could bear.  We carried all our possessions downstairs, and heaped them on the large dining-table, and so made our preparations together in the same room.  I am sure we have taken nothing away which does not properly belong to us.

“Having already mentioned to you my own conviction that Magdalen was not herself when you saw her on Wednesday, I feel tempted to stop here and give you an instance in proof of what I say.  The little circumstance happened on Wednesday night, just before we went up to our rooms.