“As it is, she will be delighted,” said her father, looking curiously at his child. He was very pleasantly disappointed in Jennie. He had feared to meet in her a heartbroken woman—a forsaken wife, whom none of her “old blessings” of father and mother, home and family affection, could possibly console—and he found a daughter who had let go the unfaithful husband and comforted herself with her unoffending babe, and meant even to enjoy herself with her parents at the parsonage in the performance of every filial, maternal and domestic duty. And that this disposition was not forced, but was natural, might be seen and heard in her contented countenance and frequent laugh. Even now, if the thought would recur that the curate’s temporary parish lay in the manor of Haymore, and the reigning or pretending squire was Kightly Montgomery, still, upon later reflection, she felt so much confidence in the wisdom and goodness of her father that she dismissed all dread of any fatal or even serious result of his meeting with her husband. And for one circumstance Jennie felt glad and grateful, namely, for the change of residence from Medge, where everybody had known her from childhood, and might, therefore, wonder and ask questions why the curate’s married daughter should return home to live without her husband—since it was clear from her dress that she was not a widow. No such wonder could be excited at Haymore; no such questions asked. The people were strangers. They had taken their temporary pastor upon well-merited trust, and his family history was unknown to them. As for the other matter connected with Kightly Montgomery, she would tell her father everything, and he would know what to do. Kightly Montgomery, she knew, never by any chance entered a church, so her father would never see him there. As for the curate, when she should have told him who the new squire really was, it was unlikely that Mr. Campbell would feel disposed to make a clerical call at the manor house. Under the divine Providence she would leave everything to her father. While the father and daughter were still chatting pleasantly together a door was flung open and a voice was heard announcing: “Train for Chuxton.” “Come, my child,” said Mr. Campbell, rising with the baby on his arms and crossing the room, followed by Jennie. They went out to the train and entered the second-class carriage. In five minutes, after they were comfortably seated, the train was off, speeding away from the old cathedral city in a northerly direction across the moors.