She had never seen the place till she reached it on this occasion; nor had she ever seen, nor would she now probably ever see, Lord Ongar’s larger house, Courton Castle.  She had gone abroad with him immediately on their marriage, and now she had returned a widow to take possession of his house.  There she was, in possession of it all.  The furniture in the rooms, the books in the cases, the gilded clocks and grand mirrors about the house, all the implements of wealthy care about the gardens, the corn in the granaries and the ricks in the hay-yard, the horses in the stable, and the cows lowing in the fields—­they were all hers.  She had performed her part of the bargain, and now the price was paid to her into her hands.  When she arrived she did not know what was the extent of her riches in this world’s goods; nor, in truth, had she at once the courage to ask questions on the subject.  She saw cows, and was told of horses; and words came to her gradually of sheep and oxen, of poultry, pigs, and growing calves.  It was as though a new world had opened itself before her eyes, full of interest; and as though all that world were her own.  She looked at it, and knew that it was the price of her bargain.  Upon the whole, she had been very lucky.  She had, indeed, passed through a sharp agony—­an agony sharp almost to death; but the agony had been short, and the price was in her hand.

A close carriage had met her at the station, and taken her with her maid to the house.  She had so arranged that she had reached the station after dark, and even then had felt that the eyes of many were upon her as she went out to her carriage, with her face covered by a veil.  She was all alone, and there would be no one at the house to whom she could speak; but the knowledge that the carriage was her own perhaps consoled her.  The housekeeper who received her was a stout, elderly, comfortable body, to whom she could perhaps say a few words beyond those which might be spoken to an ordinary servant; but she fancied at once that the housekeeper was cold to her, and solemn in her demeanor.

“I hope you have good fires, Mrs. Button.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I think I will have some tea; I don’t want anything else to-night.”

“Very well, my lady.”

Mrs. Button, maintaining a solemn countenance, would not go beyond this; and yet Mrs. Button looked like a woman who could have enjoyed a gossip, had the lady been a lady to her mind.  Perhaps Mrs. Button did not like serving a lady as to whom such sad stories were told.  Lady Ongar, as she thought of this, drew herself up unconsciously, and sent Mrs. Button away from her.

The next morning, after an early breakfast, Lady Ongar went out.  She was determined that she would work hard; that she would understand the farm; that she would know the laborers; that she would assist the poor; that she would have a school; and, above all, that she would make all the privileges of ownership her own.  Was not the price in her hand, and would she not use it?  She felt that it was very good that something of the price had come to her thus in the shape of land, and beeves, and wide, heavy outside garniture.  From them she would pluck an interest which mere money could not have given her.  She was out early, therefore, that she might look round upon the things that were her own.