She had met Mr. Ranford in the grounds, and the two came back together, I remember, smiling and talking as they walked along the terrace under my window.  That was the first time I saw Mr. Ranford, though I had often heard his name mentioned in the hall.  He was a neighbor, it appeared, living a mile or two beyond Brympton, at the end of the village; and as he was in the habit of spending his winters in the country he was almost the only company my mistress had at that season.  He was a slight tall gentleman of about thirty, and I thought him rather melancholy-looking till I saw his smile, which had a kind of surprise in it, like the first warm day in spring.  He was a great reader, I heard, like my mistress, and the two were forever borrowing books of one another, and sometimes (Mr. Wace told me) he would read aloud to Mrs. Brympton by the hour, in the big dark library where she sat in the winter afternoons.  The servants all liked him, and perhaps that’s more of a compliment than the masters suspect.  He had a friendly word for every one of us, and we were all glad to think that Mrs. Brympton had a pleasant companionable gentleman like that to keep her company when the master was away.  Mr. Ranford seemed on excellent terms with Mr. Brympton too; though I couldn’t but wonder that two gentlemen so unlike each other should be so friendly.  But then I knew how the real quality can keep their feelings to themselves.

As for Mr. Brympton, he came and went, never staying more than a day or two, cursing the dulness and the solitude, grumbling at everything, and (as I soon found out) drinking a deal more than was good for him.  After Mrs. Brympton left the table he would sit half the night over the old Brympton port and madeira, and once, as I was leaving my mistress’s room rather later than usual, I met him coming up the stairs in such a state that I turned sick to think of what some ladies have to endure and hold their tongues about.

The servants said very little about their master; but from what they let drop I could see it had been an unhappy match from the beginning.  Mr. Brympton was coarse, loud and pleasure-loving; my mistress quiet, retiring, and perhaps a trifle cold.  Not that she was not always pleasant-spoken to him:  I thought her wonderfully forbearing; but to a gentleman as free as Mr. Brympton I daresay she seemed a little offish.

Well, things went on quietly for several weeks.  My mistress was kind, my duties were light, and I got on well with the other servants.  In short, I had nothing to complain of; yet there was always a weight on me.  I can’t say why it was so, but I know it was not the loneliness that I felt.  I soon got used to that; and being still languid from the fever, I was thankful for the quiet and the good country air.  Nevertheless, I was never quite easy in my mind.  My mistress, knowing I had been ill, insisted that I should take my walk regular, and often invented errands for me:—­a yard of ribbon to be fetched from the village, a letter posted, or a book returned to Mr. Ranford.  As soon as I was out of doors my spirits rose, and I looked forward to my walks through the bare moist-smelling woods; but the moment I caught sight of the house again my heart dropped down like a stone in a well.  It was not a gloomy house exactly, yet I never entered it but a feeling of gloom came over me.