“Your master and mistress will be here by half-past eleven, Thomson,” she said. “This message is from Harwich, and they seem to have had a very bad crossing.” “Indeed, my lady!” answered the old man, whose face, like the house of Graves, shone with a renewed prosperity; “then I had better give orders about the carriage meeting them. It’s a pity we hadn’t a little more notice, for there’s many in the village as would have liked to give Sir Henry and her ladyship a bit of a welcome.” “Yes, Thomson; but perhaps they can manage something of that sort in a day or two. Everything is ready, I suppose? I have not had time to go round yet.” “Well, I can’t say that, my lady. I think that some of them there workmen won’t have done till their dying day; and the smell of paint upstairs is awful. But perhaps your ladyship would like to have a look?” “Yes, I should, Thomson, if you will give the orders about the carriage and to have some breakfast ready.” Thomson bowed and went, and, reappearing presently, led Lady Graves from room to room, pointing out the repairs that had been done to each. Emma’s money had fallen upon the nakedness of Rosham like spring rains upon a desert land, with results that were eminently satisfactory to Lady Graves, who for many years had been doomed to mourn over threadbare carpets and shabby walls. At last they had inspected everything, down to the new glass in the windows of the servants’ bedrooms. “I think, Thomson,” said Lady Graves, with a sigh of relief, “that, taking everything into consideration, we have a great deal to be thankful for.” “That’s just what I says upon my knees every night, my lady. When I remember that if it hadn’t been for the new mistress and her money (bless her sweet face!) all of us might have been sold up and in the workhouse by now, or near it, I feel downright sick.” “Well, you can cheer up now, Thomson, for, although for his position your master will not be a rich man, the bad times are done with.” “Yes, my lady, they are done with; and please God they won’t come no more in my day. If your ladyship is going to walk outside I’ll call March, as I know he’s very anxious to show you the new vinery.” “Thank you, Thomson, but I think I will sit quiet and enjoy myself till Sir Henry comes, and then we can all go and see the gardens together. Mr. and Mrs. Milward are coming over this afternoon, are they not?” “Yes, I believe so, my lady; that is, Miss Ellen—I mean Mrs. Milward—drove round with her husband yesterday to look at the new furniture in the drawing-room, and said that they should invite themselves to dinner to-night to welcome the bride. He’s grown wonderful pleasant of late, Mr. Milward has, and speaks quite civil to the likes of us since Sir Henry’s marriage; though March, he do say it’s because he wants our votes for I suppose you’ve heard, my lady, that he’s putting up for Parliament in this division— but then March never was no believer in the human heart.”