"Welcome, madam, a thousand times welcome to your new home," said he, in a stentorian voice, with a double infusion of geniality. "I claim the honour of showing you your part of the house, though 'tis all yours for that matter." And he led the way. Now this cheerful stentorian voice was just a little shaky for once, and his eyes were moist. Mrs. Gaunt noticed, but said nothing before the people. She smiled graciously, and accompanied him. He took her to her apartments. They consisted of a salle-à-manger, three delightful bedrooms, a boudoir, and a magnificent drawing-room, fifty feet long, with two fire-places, and a bay-window thirty feet wide, filled with the choicest flowers. An exclamation of delight escaped Mrs. Gaunt. Then she said, "One would think I was a queen." Then she sighed, "Ah," said she, "'tis a fine thing to be rich." Then, despondently, "Tell him I think it very beautiful." "Nay, madam, I hope you will tell him so yourself." Mrs. Gaunt made no reply to that; she added: "And it was kind of him to have you here the first day: I do not feel so lonely as I should without you." She took Griffith at his word, and lived with Rose in her own apartments. For some time Griffith used to slip away whenever saw her coming. One day she caught him at it, and beckoned him. He came to her. "You need not run away from me," said she: "I did not come into your house to quarrel with you. Let us he friends." And she gave him her hand sweetly enough, but oh so coldly. "I hope for nothing more," said Griffith. "If you ever have a wish, give me the pleasure of gratifying it--that is all." "I wish to retire to a convent," said she, quietly. "And desert your daughter?" "I would leave her behind, to remind you of days gone by." By degrees they saw a little more of one another; they even dined together, now and then. But it brought them no nearer. There was no anger, with its loving reaction. They were friendly enough, but an icy barrier stood between them. One person set himself quietly to sap this barrier. Father Francis was often at the Castle, and played the peace-maker very adroitly. The line he took might be called the innocent Jesuitical. He saw that it would be useless to exhort these two persons to ignore the terrible things that happened, and to make it up as if it was only a squabble. What he did was to repeat to the husband every gracious word the wife let fall, and _vice versa_, and to suppress all either said that might tend to estrange them. In short, he acted the part of Mr. Harmony in the play, and acted it to perfection. Gutta cavat lapidem. Though no perceptible effect followed his efforts, yet there is no doubt that he got rid of some of the bitterness. But the coldness remained. One day he was sent for all in a hurry by Griffith. He found him looking gloomy and agitated.