People in general were rather astonished at the eagerness Miss Wilkins showed to sell all the Ford Bank furniture.  Even Miss Monro was a little scandalized at this want of sentiment, although she said nothing about it; indeed justified the step, by telling every one how wisely Ellinor was acting, as the large, handsome, tables and chairs would be very much out of place and keeping with the small, oddly-shaped rooms of their future home in East Chester Close.  None knew how strong was the instinct of self-preservation, it may almost be called, which impelled Ellinor to shake off, at any cost of present pain, the incubus of a terrible remembrance.  She wanted to go into an unhaunted dwelling in a free, unknown country—­she felt as if it was her only chance of sanity.  Sometimes she thought her senses would not hold together till the time when all these arrangements were ended.  But she did not speak to any one about her feelings, poor child; to whom could she speak on the subject but to Dixon?  Nor did she define them to herself.  All she knew was, that she was as nearly going mad as possible; and if she did, she feared that she might betray her father’s guilt.  All this time she never cried, or varied from her dull, passive demeanour.  And they were blessed tears of relief that she shed when Miss Monro, herself weeping bitterly, told her to put her head out of the post-chaise window, for at the next turning of the road they would catch the last glimpse of Hamley church spire.

Late one October evening, Ellinor had her first sight of East Chester Close, where she was to pass the remainder of her life.  Miss Monro had been backwards and forwards between Hamley and East Chester more than once, while Ellinor remained at the parsonage; so she had not only the pride of proprietorship in the whole of the beautiful city, but something of the desire of hospitably welcoming Ellinor to their joint future home.

“Look! the fly must take us a long round, because of our luggage; but behind these high old walls are the canons’ gardens.  That high-pitched roof, with the clumps of stonecrop on the walls near it, is Canon Wilson’s, whose four little girls I am to teach.  Hark! the great cathedral clock.  How proud I used to be of its great boom when I was a child!  I thought all the other church clocks in the town sounded so shrill and poor after that, which I considered mine especially.  There are rooks flying home to the elms in the Close.  I wonder if they are the same that used to be there when I was a girl.  They say the rook is a very long-lived bird, and I feel as if I could swear to the way they are cawing.  Ay, you may smile, Ellinor, but I understand now those lines of Gray’s you used to say so prettily—­

   “I feel the gales that from ye blow. 
   A momentary bliss bestow,
      And breathe a second spring.”

Now, dear, you must get out.  This flagged walk leads to our front-door; but our back rooms, which are the pleasantest, look on to the Close, and the cathedral, and the lime-tree walk, and the deanery, and the rookery.”