’It was not at all good.  I think you are the only person in the world who really cares for me, now that I have lost papa—­for I have lost him, you see, Mary; that becomes more obvious every day.  Well, dear, I had a hard battle to fight.  Mrs. Darrell said you were absurdly young for such a position, and that I required a matronly person, able to direct and protect me, and take the management of the house in her absence, and so on; but I said that I wanted neither direction nor protection; that the house wanted no other management than that of Mrs. Bunce the housekeeper, who has managed it ever since I was a baby; and that if I could not have Mary Crofton, I would have no one at all.  I told papa what an indefatigable darling you were, and how conscientiously you would perform anything you promised to do.  So, after a good deal of discussion, the matter was settled; and here we are, with the house all to ourselves, and the prospect of being alone together for six months to come.’

I asked her if she had seen much of Mr. Stormont since that memorable Sunday afternoon.

‘He has been here twice,’ she said, ’for his usual short visit from Saturday afternoon till Monday morning, and he has treated me just as if that uncomfortable interview had never taken place.’

We were very happy together in the great lonely house, amongst old servants, who seemed to take a pleasure in waiting on us.  We spent our mornings and evenings in Milly’s sitting-room, and took our meals in a snug prettily-furnished breakfast-room on the ground-floor.  We read together a great deal, going through a systematic course of study of a very different kind from the dry labours at Albury Lodge.  There was a fine old library at Thornleigh, and we read the masters of English and French prose together with unflagging interest and pleasure.  Besides all this, Milly worked hard at her music, and still harder at her painting, which was a real delight to her.

Mr. Collingwood the rector, and his family, came to see us, and insisted on our visiting them frequently in a pleasant unceremonious manner; and we had other invitations from Milly’s old friends in the neighbourhood of Thornleigh.

There were carriages at our disposal, but we did not often use them.  Milly preferred walking; and we used to take long rambles together whenever the weather was favourable—­rambles across the moor, or far away over the hills, or deep into the wood between Thornleigh and Cumber.

CHAPTER VI.

A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.

It was shortly after my arrival at Thornleigh that I first saw the man whose story I had heard in the study at Cumber Priory.  Milly and I had been together about a fortnight, and it was the end of January—­cold, clear, bright weather—­when we set out early one afternoon for a ramble in our favourite wood, Milly furnished with pencils and sketch-book, in order to jot down any striking effect of the gaunt leafless old trees.  She had a hardy disregard of cold in her devotion to her art, and would sit down to sketch in the bitter January weather in spite of my entreaties.