“England is a very fine place,” he said, with his teeth chattering, as he came in, out of a boisterous March wind, which carried upon it bushels of that dust that is worth a king’s ransom. “It is a very fine place but--only I don’t seem to agree with it.” But that summer must certainly come some time--and spring was certainly come at this period, though Gus did not recognise that pleasant season in its English garb--they must all have given in altogether. But when the primroses appeared in the woods Sir Gus began to get back a little of his courage. Fortunately the summer opened brightly, promising to be as warm and genial as the winter had been severe; and by degrees the little gentleman let his fires go down, and left off his furs. Who can doubt that the winter had been very long at Markham for the whole household? They were living alone in their mourning, and Paul, though only in London, was separated from them, and in a state of great uncertainty and doubtful comfort. And other visitors were banished too. But when the spring came back the household awoke, and broke the bonds of gloom. Even Lady Markham began to smile naturally upon her children--not with the smile of duty put on for their advantage, but with a little natural rising of the clouds. And Alice brightened insensibly, knowing that “they” were to come for Easter; that is, Paul and “one of his friends.” Nothing had been said to Alice upon any subject that was likely to agitate her prematurely, but it was pleasant to look forward to that visit from Paul and his friend-from which fact it may be divined that Lady Markham had been not unfavourably moved by the last item in Fairfax’s confession. Thus summer came again, communicating brightness; and Sir Gus began to live again, and to believe that it might be possible to put up with England after all. CHAPTER XIII.