He began—­novel sensation—­to look upon himself as a respectable old gentleman; the grey patches on his head were grateful to him from that point of view.  If only he had been able to gather round his granddaughter and himself a circle of equally respectable friends and acquaintances, he would have enjoyed complete satisfaction.  Two or three at most there were, whom he could venture to bring over with him from the old life to the new.  For Ida he could as yet provide no companionship at all.

But Ida did not feel the want.  Since the day of her coming to the new house her life had been very full; so much was passing within, that she desired to escape, rather than discover, new distractions in the world around her.  For the week or so during which Waymark had lain ill, her courage had triumphed over the sufferings to which she was herself a prey; the beginning of his recovery brought about a reaction in her state, and for some days she fell into a depressed feebleness almost as extreme as on the first morning of her freedom.  It distressed her to be spoken to, and her own lips were all but mute.  Mr. Woodstock sometimes sat by her whilst she slept, or seemed to be sleeping; when she stirred and showed consciousness of his presence, he left her, so great was his fear of annoying her, and thus losing the ground he had gained.  Once, when he was rising to quit the room, Ida held out her hand as if to stay him.  She was lying on a sofa, and had enjoyed a very quiet sleep.

“Grandfather,” she murmured, turning to face him.  It was the first time she had addressed him thus, and the old man’s eyes brightened at the sound.

“Are you better for the sleep, Ida?” he asked, taking the hand she had extended.

“Much; much better.  How the sun shines!”

“Yes, it’s a fine day.  Don’t you think you could go out a little?”

“I think I should like to, but I can’t walk very far, I’m afraid.”

“You needn’t walk at all, my dear.  Your carriage shall be here whenever you like to order it.”

“My carriage?”

The exclamation was like a child’s pleased wonder.  She coloured a little, and seemed ashamed.

“How is Mr. Waymark?” was her next question.

“Nothing much amiss now, I think.  His eyes are painful, he says, and he mustn’t leave the room yet, but it won’t last much longer.  Shall we go together and see him?”

She hesitated, but decided to wait till he could come down.

“But you’ll go out, Ida, if I order the carriage?”

“Thank you, I should like to.”

That first drive had been to Ida a joy unspeakable.  To-day for the first time she was able to sweep her mind clear of the dread shadow of brooding, and give herself up to simple enjoyment of the hour.