‘Yes! you’d better go, Dolly; Bessie Maclean is selfish and egotistical, and somewhat of a fool; but I daresay she’s nervous at the idea of remaining in that isolated home by herself, particularly as it is all so strange to her. And you don’t know what fear is, old woman!’ ‘I wish she could overhear the character you give her,’ I answered, laughingly. But Dick was right. I am _not_ a nervous woman, and if I had been, he would have cured me of it long before. Living in a gaol, and having, of my own free will, constant access to the prisoners, had effectually dispersed any ladylike unreasonable fears I may once have thought womanly and becoming, and made me ashamed of starting at shadows. So, having sent an affirmative answer to my friend’s appeal, I set out for Poplar Farm, when the time came, with as much confidence in my powers of protection as though I had been of the sterner sex. Dick drove me over in the curricle. It was a bright November morning: one of those days when the air is crisp and exhilarating without being in the least degree cold; a day on which one feels younger, and more hopeful and capable of good—on which one’s sorrows seem too paltry for consideration, and one’s happiness far more than one deserves. I experienced this sensation in the fullest sense, as I crept as close as I could to my husband’s side, and smuggled one hand beneath his arm. ‘Holloa!’ cried Dick; ‘why, what’s this? Repenting of your promise already, eh? Oh! you spoony woman, I’m ashamed of you!’ I _was_ repenting it, but I did not tell him so. It is good for people who love very much to part sometimes, if only to teach them how great a blessing they possess in each other’s affection. As we drove up the long-neglected drive of Poplar Farm, I could not help thinking that Bessie was right in considering it gloomy. The sun had disappeared again behind an autumn cloud. The trees had shed most of their leaves, which lay in sodden heaps along the paths, and a chilly wind had commenced to blow. I drew my cloak closer against my shoulders, and told Dick what I thought. ‘Nonsense, Dolly!’ he replied. ‘The place is well enough; and when Maclean has had time to put it in order, will be one of the prettiest farms in the county. I only wish I had the money to buy such another. But naturally it does not look its best when the trees are bare.’ ‘Stop!’ I cried, suddenly; ‘there’s the baby. Let me get down and kiss him. That must be the new nurse carrying him, Dick. But what a lugubrious looking young person she is!’ My husband had good-naturedly drawn up by this time, and I had scrambled down to meet my little godson, who was about three months old. But as soon as I had pulled aside the veil that covered his face, I started with surprise. ‘Oh! how he _has_ gone off!’ I exclaimed. The baby, who had been so fat and dimpled and red-faced last time I saw him, was now drawn and white and thin. The change was apparent so that even Dick could see it from the box-seat.