While the happy couple were honeymooning it in the north of Devon, unconsciously standing as capital models of posed figures to several artists who had lingered beyond most of their fraternity in those pleasant quarters, old Mrs. Churchill, having engaged a tolerably neat lodging not far from her old abode, devoted herself and some of her savings to the embellishment of the house in Great Adullam Street, which was newly painted outside, and revived within to the extent of new carpeting and a general polishing of the furniture. Intelligence of these triumphs had been duly conveyed in letters to Frank, who in return, thanked his mother, and sent a postscript by Barbara, who, addressing her as "her dear mother," begged her not to over-fatigue herself in their service; which little message, signed "Your affectionate daughter, B. C.," brought tears of delight into the old lady's eyes, and had the effect of causing her to redouble her exertions. At last the day for their return arrived, and the rain, which had been threatening for nearly a week past, broke through the yellow canopy of fog hanging over London, and came down heroically. It was not favourable weather in which to make one's first acquaintance with Great Adullam Street, which required a good deal of sunlight to do away with its normal ghastliness; and as the evening twilight, drear and dim, came rolling up, Eleanor Churchill, sitting at the window of her lodgings on the look-out for the cab, which must pass her door, felt her heart sink within her with a strange, indefinable sensation of dread. Her delicacy had prevented her being present on her new daughter's first arrival at her home; but she now almost regretted that she had not gone round to welcome her among her new and strange surroundings. Great Adullam Street very seldom had a cab rattling over its ill-set stones; there was a large gate at one end (as is frequently the case in the neighbourhood), where every public vehicle was stopped, and sent by a different route, at the mandate of a very sullen gate-keeper, unless it happened to be bound to some house in the street. So that when Mrs. Churchill heard the creaking gates open, followed by the noise of wheels, she knew that her children had arrived, and looking out, saw by the lamplight Barbara's handsome face at the cab-window. "Handsome, very handsome and patrician-looking," thought the ow lady; "but what a strange look of bewilderment on it!" The cab stopped, and Churchill jumped out and handed Barbara into the house. Lucy, old Mrs. Churchill's servant, stood within the door, and gave a very grim bow as Barbara passed; the two newly-hired servants were smirking in the passage. Frank hurried past them, and led Barbara into the little dining-room. She was very tired with her journey, and at once sat down. "Who was that horrid person, Frank, at the door,--with the strange sour look, I mean?"