I held out my hand. The kindest--oh yes, I must say the words--the kindest eyes in the world looked anxiously into mine; the pleasant mouth relaxed as though it was preparing to smile; then it became grave, but its expression was as sweet as ever. "How are you, Rachel?" said she who used to be Miss Grace Donnithorne. She bent forward and gave me a light kiss--not the affectionate embrace she had bestowed upon me once or twice when I was at Hedgerow House. "Take your mother upstairs, Dumps. Take her and show her her bedroom," said father. "Come along, you two boys; just come and tell me all that has been happening at the college. My goodness, what an age it seems since I went away!" Father's tone and the mighty sigh of relief he gave did more to compose my nerves than anything else. Miss Grace Donnithorne had not changed him. I went up the stairs saying to myself, "She is not my father's wife. She is only Miss Grace Donnithorne, a stoutish lady, middle-aged, quite nice and fat and pleasant; she is not father's wife." All the time these thoughts kept coming and going in my brain; but the lady who followed me did not speak at all. That was quite unlike Miss Donnithorne's way. I opened the door of the big room. The fire had almost burnt itself out; the room in consequence was cold. There was no gas of any sort in this huge chamber; two poor, solitary candles had been placed on the high mantelshelf, but had not been lighted. "Dear me!" said the lady--and there was no mistaking the matter-of-fact voice--"but this room is too cold for your father. Come along. Dumps, you and I must see to this at once. Where can we get coals? Oh, this hod is empty. Get some matches quickly, child, and some hot water. Your father must have hot water, and we must have this fire made up. Dear, dear! Dumps, our hands will be full. He is a very precious man, you know, but a handful--a good bit of a handful--more than one child could possibly manage, and more than one woman can manage, but between us, Dumps--" She took up the poker, and the fire was soon blazing again. Candles were lit in a trice. Hannah appeared with a great jug of hot water. "Where would you wish your hot water to be placed, Mrs Grant?" she said. Her tone was very precise. There was a red spot on one of her cheeks; the other was deadly pale. But the white satin favour! What possessed her to wear it? It stood out with an aggravating stare on her dark dress. The new Mrs Grant turned at once. "Put it here by the wash-hand stand," she said; "and bring some more coals, please. This fire is not nearly large enough. The room is chilly." She spoke very cheerfully. Hannah left the room at once. Just at that moment there came a knock at the door. "Father says that supper is ready," said Charley's voice. "Oh, I haven't spoken to you, Charley," said Mrs Grant. She went to the door, took his hand, and wrung it. "Good boy," she said. "You will help me all you can."