Henrietta did not answer, for there was something that subdued her in the nervous pressure of her mother’s hand.  The carriage stopped at the door, whence streamed forth light, dazzling to eyes long accustomed to darkness; but in the midst stood a figure which Henrietta could not but have recognized in an instant, even had not old Mr. Langford paid more than one visit to Rocksand.  Tall, thin, unbent, with high bald forehead, clear eye, and long snowy hair; there he was, lifting rather than handing his daughter-in-law from the carriage, and fondly kissing her brow; then he hastily greeted the other occupants of the carriage, while she received the kiss of Mrs. Langford.

They were now in the hall, and turning again to his daughter-in-law, he gave her his arm, and led her into the drawing-room, where he once more embraced her, saying, “Bless you, my own dear Mary!” She clung to him for a moment as if she longed to weep with him, but recovering herself in an instant, she gave her attention to Mrs. Langford, who was trying to administer to her comfort with a degree of bustle and activity which suited well with the alertness of her small figure and the vivacity of the black eyes which still preserved their brightness, though her hair was perfectly white.  “Well, Mary, my dear, I hope you are not tired.  You had better sit down and take off your furs, or will you go to your room?  But where is Geoffrey?”

“He went with Alex and Carey, round by Sutton Leigh,” said Beatrice.

“Ha! ha! my little Queen, are you there?” said grandpapa, holding out his arms to her.  “And,” added he, “is not this your first introduction to the twins, grandmamma?  Why you are grown as fine a pair as I would wish to see on a summer’s day.  Last time I saw you I could hardly tell you apart, when you both wore straw hats and white trousers.  No mistake now though.  Well, I am right glad to have you here.”

“Won’t you take off some of your wraps, Mary?” proceeded Mrs. Langford, and her daughter-in-law, with a soft “Thank you,” passively obeyed.  “And you too, my dear,” she added to Henrietta.

“Off with that bonnet, Miss Henrietta,” proceeded grandpapa.  “Let me see whether you are as like your brother as ever.  He has your own face, Mary.”

“Do not you think his forehead like—­” and she looked to the end of the room where hung the portraits of two young children, the brothers Geoffrey and Frederick.  Henrietta had often longed to see it, but now she could attend to nothing but her mamma.

“Like poor dear Frederick?” said grandmamma.  “Well, I can’t judge by firelight, you know, my dear, but I should say they were both your very image.”

“You can’t be the image of any one I should like better,” said Mr. Langford, turning to them cheerfully, and taking Henrietta’s hand.  “I wish nothing better than to find you the image of your mamma inside and out.”

“Ah, there’s Geoffrey!” cried Mrs. Langford, springing up and almost running to meet him.