As soon as he had so done, he turned back again, and found the old lady with her head thrust into the doorway of a room on the right-hand side, saying in a loud tone—­“It’s himself, sure enough, though!”

The moment she had spoken, he heard an exclamation, apparently in the voice of Lord Sherbrooke; and, following a sign from the girl who had opened the door, he went in, and found the room tenanted by four persons, who had been brought together in intimate association, by one of the strangest of those strange combinations in which fate some times indulges.

Seated in a large arm-chair, with her cheek much paler than it had been before, but still extremely beautiful, was the lady whom we must now call Lady Sherbrooke.  Her large dark eyes, full of light and lustre, though somewhat shaded by a languid fall of the upper eyelid, were turned towards the door as Wilton entered, and her fair beautiful hand lay in that of her husband as he sat beside her.

On the opposite side of the room, with her fine face bearing but very few traces of time’s withering power, and her beautiful figure falling into a line of exquisitely easy grace, sat the Lady Helen, gazing on the other two, with her arm resting on a small work-table, and her cheek supported by her hand.

Cast with apparent listlessness into a chair, somewhat behind the Lady Helen Oswald, and shaded by her figure from the light upon the table, was the powerful form of our old acquaintance Green.  But there was in the whole attitude which he had assumed an apathy, a weary sort of thought fulness, which struck Wilton very much the moment he beheld him.  Green’s eyes, indeed, were raised to mark the opening door, but still there was a gloomy want of interest in their glance which was utterly unlike the quick and sparkling vivacity which had characterized them in former times.

The first who spoke was Lord Sherbrooke, who, still holding Caroline’s hand in his, held out the other to his friend, saying, in a tone of some feeling, but at the same time of feeling decidedly melancholy, “This is a sight that will give you pleasure, Wilton.”

“It is, indeed, my dear Sherbrooke,” replied Wilton; “only I do wish that it had been rendered more pleasant still, by seeing no remaining trace of illness in this lady’s face.”

“I am better, sir, much better,” she said; “for my recovery has been certain and uninterrupted, though somewhat long.  If I could but teach your friend to bear a little adversity as unrepining as I have borne sickness, we might be very happy.  I am very glad, indeed, to see you, sir,” she continued; “for you must know, that this is my house that you are in,” and she smiled gaily as she spoke:  “but though I should always have been happy to welcome you as Sherbrooke’s friend, yet I do so more gladly now, as it gives me the opportunity of thanking you for all the care and kindness that you showed me upon a late occasion.”