’He seemed very glad to see me, came forward smiling—­I disliked his smile always—­with both hands out, and shook mine with more warmth than I ever remembered in his greeting before, and said—­

’"My dear, dear Monica, how very good of you—­the very person I longed to see!  I have been miserably ill, the sad consequence of still more miserable anxiety.  Sit down, pray, for a moment.”

’And he paid me some nice little French compliment in verse.

’"And where is Maud?” said I.

’"I think Maud is by this time about halfway to Elverston,” said the old gentleman.  “I persuaded her to take a drive, and advised a call there, which seemed to please her, so I conjecture she obeyed.”

’"How very provoking!” cried I.

’"My poor Maud will be sadly disappointed, but you will console her by a visit—­you have promised to come, and I shall try to make you comfortable.  I shall be happier, Monica, with this proof of our perfect reconciliation.  You won’t deny me?”

’"Certainly not.  I am only too glad to come,” said I; “and I want to thank you, Silas.”

’"For what?” said he.

’"For wishing to place Maud in my care.  I am very much obliged to you.”

’"I did not suggest it, I must say, Monica, with the least intention of obliging you,” said Silas.

’I thought he was going to break into one of his ungracious moods.

’"But I am obliged to you—­very much obliged to you, Silas; and you sha’n’t refuse my thanks.”

’"I am happy, at all events, Monica, in having won your good-will; we learn at last that in the affections only are our capacities for happiness; and how true is St. Paul’s preference of love—­the principle that abideth!  The affections, dear Monica, are eternal; and being so, celestial, divine, and consequently happy, deriving happiness, and bestowing it.”

’I was always impatient of his or anybody else’s metaphysics; but I controlled myself, and only said, with my customary impudence—­

’"Well, dear Silas, and when do you wish me to come?”

’"The earlier the better,” said he.

’"Lady Mary and Ilbury will be leaving me on Tuesday morning.  I can come to you in the afternoon, if you think Tuesday a good day.”

’"Thank you, dear Monica.  I shall be, I trust, enlightened by that day as to my enemies’ plans.  It is a humiliating confession, Monica, but I am past feeling that.  It is quite possible that an execution may be sent into this house to-morrow, and an end of all my schemes.  It is not likely, however—­hardly possible—­before three weeks, my attorney tells me.  I shall hear from him to-morrow morning, and then I shall ask you to name a very early day.  If we are to have an unmolested fortnight certain, you shall hear, and name your own day.”

’Then he asked me who had accompanied me, and lamented ever so much his not being able to go down to receive them; and he offered luncheon, with a sort of Ravenswood smile, and a shrug, and I declined, telling him that we had but a few minutes, and that my companions were walking in the grounds near the house.