To my surprise, Miss Johnston answered the message in person, and a most painful conversation ensued. She is a good woman--no doubt of that: but she is, as Treherne once said of her father, "as sharp as a needle and as hard as a rock." It being already dark, of course I saw her safe back to her own gate. She informed me that the family were all quite well, which was the sole conversation that passed between us, except concerning the poor dead labourer, James Cartwright, and his family, of whom, save Lydia, she spoke compassionately, saying they had gone through much trouble. Walking along by her side, and trying to find a cause for the exceeding bitterness and harshness of spirit she had evidenced, it struck me that this lady was herself not ignorant of trouble. I left her at the gate under the bush of ivy. Through the bars I could see, right across the wet garden, the light streaming from the hall-door. Now to bed, and to sleep, if this heart will allow: it has been rather unmanageable lately, necessitating careful watching, as will be the case till there is nothing here but an empty skull. If only I could bring this barrack matter to a satisfactory start, from which good results might reasonably be expected, I would at once go abroad. Anywhere--it is all the same. A rumour is afloat that we may soon get the route for the East, or China; which I could be well content with, as my next move. Far away--far away; with thousands of miles of tossing sea between me and this old England; far away out of all sight or Remembrance. So best. Next time I call on Widow Cartwright shall be after dark, when, without the slightest chance of meeting any one, it will be easy to take a few steps further up the village. There is a cranny in one place in the wall, whence I know one can get a very good view of the parlour-window, where they never close the shutters till quite bedtime. And, before our regiment leaves, it will be right I should call--to omit this would hardly be civil, after all the hospitality I have received. So I will call some wet day, when they are not likely to be out,--when, probably, the younger sister will be sitting at her books upstairs in the attic, which, she told me, she makes her study, and gets out of the way of visitors. Perhaps she will not take the trouble to come down. Not even for a shake of the hand and a good-bye--good-bye _for ever_. O, mother--unknown mother--who must have surely loved my father; well enough, too, to leave all friends and follow him, a poor lieutenant of a marching regiment, up and down the world--if I had but died with you when you brought me into this same troublesome world, how much it would have saved! CHAPTER XII. HER STORY. Just finished my long letter to Lisabel, and lingered over the direction, "Mrs. Treherne, Treherne Court."