“You are always thinking of every one,” said Agatha, as she turned to obey. She felt it was a solemn mission. All her bright plans about Thornhurst grew dim; she could not look forward. Yet, warm in the strength of youth and love, she cherished a faint hope still. When she reached Kingcombe, Brian had not come home. They sent messengers for him in all directions, but in vain. At last they were forced to drive back without him--hopelessly peering through the dusk to see if they could discern his tall figure across the moors. When they were dashing at full speed through Thornhurst-gate, some one rose up from the hedge beside it, and stopped the horses. “Is anything the matter at the house? Speak, can't you, fellow?” The voice hoarse and commanding--the tall, spare figure, the grey hair--it could be none other than Brian Harper. Nathanael called to him. “Uncle Brian, we have been looking for you everywhere. Anne wants to see you. Come.” “I will.” He walked away and was lost in the furze-bushes; but when the carriage drove up to the door they found him already standing there. They all entered the house together. Anne's maid met them with a delighted countenance. Her mistress was so well--thank God! She was up, and sitting in the drawing-room! There in truth she was, in her usual seat, wearing her ordinary dress. She had taken off the invalid-cap, and her soft hair was arranged as carefully as if no white lines marred its brownness. She looked less old than usual--nay, almost beautiful--so exquisitely peaceful was the expression of her countenance. Nathanael and his wife hung back, letting Mr. Harper meet her first. She rose and held out both hands to him. “Welcome home again--welcome home!” He said nothing, but grasped the hands, and retained them fast. There was a long, long look, eye to eye, face to face,--a look, in which were gathered and summed up all the years since they were young, together,--and then the two old friends sat down side by side. Agatha thought it strange that they should meet in such a calm, commonplace way--but then she was young. She did not know how quietly flows the outward surface of a tide that has flowed on, deep, solemn, and changeless, for five-and-twenty years. In a little while they were all sitting round the fire--the merry Christmas fire with its blazing pine-log--talking just as naturally and familiarly as though no emotion had stirred them. Anne Valery, resting in her arm-chair, looked on and smiled. She talked little, but listened to the rest, and by an inexplicable sweet calmness, made them all so much at ease, that it seemed to Agatha as if they four had known one another for a whole lifetime, and been always as happy as now. As the evening advanced, the Christmas dinner was announced. “I am sorry I cannot sit at the head of my own table to-day, but”--and Miss Valery gently laid her hand on Brian's arm--“you will take my place, old friend?”