Again, nearly a year later.

“I do not know how people can like to live always in one place, when there is so much that is beautiful to see in the world.  Aunt Barbara says that she would be content always to live in Cornwall; and it is very kind of her to come to London, for it is that I may have masters, she says; but I cannot help being glad, for I was so tired of the rocks, and the sea always the same.  We arrived last week, and Aunt Barbara says we shall stay the whole winter, and come back every year, very likely.  I like our house very much; it is in Westminster, not far from the Abbey, where I went with you; one side looks on to the street, that is rather dull; but the other looks on to St. James’s Park, where I go to walk with Aunt Barbara.  We went to the Abbey last Sunday; it reminded me of the churches abroad, and the singing was so beautiful.  In Cornwall there was only a fiddle and a cracked flute, and everybody sang out of tune; I did not like going to church there at all.  Please write to me soon, Monsieur Horace, and tell me where you are, and what you are doing; I fancy it all to myself—­the big forests, and the rivers, and the flowers, and everything.”

Accompanying these would be Mrs. Treherne’s reports: 

“Madeleine improves every day, I think.  She is much grown, and resembles her mother more and more, though she will never be so beautiful, to my mind; she has not, and never will have, Magdalen’s English air and complexion.  She gets on well with her London masters and classes, and has great advantages in many ways over girls of her own age, especially in her knowledge of foreign languages.  I trust that by degrees the memory of her disastrous past may fade away; we never speak of it, and she is so constantly employed, and seems to take so much interest in her occupation and studies, that I hope she is ceasing to think of old days, and will grow up the quiet, English girl I could wish to see Magdalen’s daughter.  Indeed she is almost too quiet and wanting in the gaiety and animation natural to girls of her age; but otherwise I have not a fault to find with her.  She is fond of reading, and gets hold of every book of travels she can hear of, that will give her any idea of the country you are exploring.  We share your letters, my dear Horace, and follow you in all your wanderings, with the greatest interest.”

One more letter.

“March 1st, 186—.

“My dear Monsieur Horace,

“Aunt Barbara bids me write and welcome you back to England.  We look forward to seeing you very much; but she says, if you can remain with your sister a week longer, it will be better than coming down to Cornwall now, as we shall be in London on Monday next, at the latest.  We should have come up to town for Christmas as usual, if Aunt Barbara had not been so unwell; and now that she is strong again, she wishes to be there as soon as possible.  It would not be worth while, therefore, for you to make so long a journey just now.  I hope you will come and see us soon; it seems a long, long time since you went away—­more than five years.