I was not very well.  Lady Knollys had gone out for a walk.  She was not easily tired, and sometimes made a long excursion.  The sun was setting now, when Mary Quince brought me a letter which had just arrived by the post.  My heart throbbed violently.  I was afraid to break the broad black seal.  It was from Uncle Silas.  I ran over in my mind all the unpleasant mandates which it might contain, to try and prepare myself for a shock.  At last I opened the letter.  It directed me to hold myself in readiness for the journey to Bartram-Haugh.  It stated that I might bring two maids with me if I wished so many, and that his next letter would give me the details of my route, and the day of my departure for Derbyshire; and he said that I ought to make arrangements about Knowl during my absence, but that he was hardly the person properly to be consulted on that matter.  Then came a prayer that he might be enabled to acquit himself of his trust to the full satisfaction of his conscience, and that I might enter upon my new relations in a spirit of prayer.

I looked round my room, so long familiar, and now so endeared by the idea of parting and change.  The old house—­dear, dear Knowl, how could I leave you and all your affectionate associations, and kind looks and voices, for a strange land!

With a great sigh I took Uncle Silas’s letter, and went down stairs to the drawing-room.  From the lobby window, where I loitered for a few moments, I looked out upon the well-known forest-trees.  The sun was down.  It was already twilight, and the white vapours of coming night were already filming their thinned and yellow foliage.  Everything looked melancholy.  How little did those who envied the young inheritrex of a princely fortune suspect the load that lay at her heart, or, bating the fear of death, how gladly at that moment she would have parted with her life!

Lady Knollys had not yet returned, and it was darkening rapidly; a mass of black clouds stood piled in the west, through the chasms of which was still reflected a pale metallic lustre.

The drawing-room was already very dark; but some streaks of this cold light fell upon a black figure, which would otherwise have been unseen, leaning beside the curtains against the window frame.

It advanced abruptly, with creaking shoes; it was Doctor Bryerly.

I was startled and surprised, not knowing how he had got there.  I stood staring at him in the dusk rather awkwardly, I am afraid.

‘How do you do, Miss Ruthyn?’ said he, extending his hand, long, hard, and brown as a mummy’s, and stooping a little so as to approach more nearly, for it was not easy to see in the imperfect light.  ’You’re surprised, I dare say, to see me here so soon again?’

’I did not know you had arrived.  I am glad to see you, Doctor Bryerly.  Nothing unpleasant, I hope, has happened?’

’No, nothing unpleasant, Miss.  The will has been lodged, and we shall have probate in due course; but there has been something on my mind, and I’m come to ask you two or three questions which you had better answer very considerately.  Is Miss Knollys still here?’