When it was published she should give Minna a new sofa for the drawing-room, and Fraeulein a fur boa and muff, and Miss Brown a type-writer for her G.F.S. work, and Abel a barometer, and each of the servants a new gown, and James those four enormous volumes of Pusey for which his soul yearned.  And what should she give Rachel—­dear Rachel?  Ah!  What need to give her anything?  The book itself was hers.  Was it not dedicated to her?  And she would make her home with Rachel for the present, as the Bishop advised, as Rachel had so urgently begged her to do.

“And we will go abroad together after Christmas as she suggests,” said Hester to herself.  “We will go to Madeira, or one of those warm places where one can sit like a cat in the sun, and do nothing, nothing, nothing, from morning till night.  I used to be so afraid of going back to Warpington, but now that the time is coming to an end I am sure I shall not irritate them so much.  And Minna will be glad.  One can always manage if it is only for a fixed time.  And they shall not be the losers by my leaving them.  I will put by the money for my little Regie.  I shall feel parting with him.”

The sun was setting as she reached Warpington.  All was gray, the church tower, the trees, the pointed gables of the Vicarage, set small together, as in a Christmas card, against the still red sky.  It only needed “Peace and Good-will” and a robin in the foreground to be complete.  The stream was the only thing that moved, with its shimmering mesh of fire-tipped ripples fleeing into the darkness of the reeds.  The little bridge, so vulgar in every-day life, leaned a mystery of darkness over a mystery of light.  The white frost held the meadows, and binding them to the gray house and church and bare trees was a thin floating ribbon of—­was it mist or smoke?  In her own window a faint light wavered.  They had lit a fire in her room.  Hester’s heart warmed to her sister-in-law at that little token of care and welcome.  Minna should have all her flowers, except one small bunch for Fraeulein.  In another moment she was ringing the bell, and Emma’s smiling red face appeared behind the glass door.

Hester ran past her into the drawing-room.  Mrs. Gresley was sitting near the fire with the old baby beside her.  She returned Hester’s kiss somewhat nervously.  She looked a little frightened.

The old baby, luxuriously seated in his own little arm-chair, rose, and holding it firmly against his small person to prevent any disconnection with it, solemnly crossed the hearth-rug, and placed the chair with himself in it by Hester.

“You would like some tea,” said Mrs. Gresley.  “It is choir practice this evening, and we don’t have supper till nine.”

But Hester had had tea before she started.

“And you are not cold?”

Hester was quite warm.  The Bishop had ordered a foot-warmer in the carriage for her.

“You are looking much better.”