But long before night, my interest gave way to utter weariness, and I could think of nothing but when we should reach home. I had not been on horseback for many years, and a ride of fifteen miles was almost too much for me, strong as I was. We entered London at last, and reached my uncle's old house about sunset. "Welcome, Mistress Corbet," said Master Davis, as he lifted me from my horse. "Welcome to your old home. Mistress Davis will strive to make it as homelike as the house you have left." Mistress Davis herself, having heard of our arrival, came forward and met me with a motherly kiss as I entered the hall where I had come, a tired, homesick child, eight years or more before. As I entered the parlor and saw the old furniture in the old accustomed places, a curious feeling of unreality came over me, as though my convent life had been all a dream; and I more than half expected to see mine uncle seated in his own window and my aunt in hers, the one reading in his great book, the other darning of hosiery, or working at the white seam, in which she excelled. But the dream was quickly dispelled by the voice of Mistress Davis: "Dear heart, and so you have come all the way from Dartford since eleven o'clock. How weary you must be. You shall have your supper directly, and go to your bed, and to-morrow you will be as fresh as a daisy. But you will like to wash before supper. My dear, I have such a poor head; I cannot recall your name!" "Loveday Corbet, reverend mother—I mean madam," I replied, confused at my mistake. "Yes, yes, I remember," said Mistress Davis. "Philippa, will you show Mistress Loveday her room; and when you are ready, sweet chick, come down to the dining-room; I dare say you know the way." "Yes, madam," I answered. "If you will kindly tell me which room I am to have, I will find it without troubling Mrs. Philippa." "Oh, I am sure it is no trouble. The front room on the third floor—that hung with the apostles, if you remember." "Oh yes, madam, it is my old room." "Let me carry your bundle," said she whom Mistress Davis had called Philippa, coming forward and taking it from my hand. We passed up the familiar stair—so familiar, yet so strange—and entered the very room from which I had witnessed Sambo's recovery of the stolen flowers. It was hardly altered at all, save that the floor was strewn with rushes, a practice which my uncle had discarded. The very nosegay of flowers on the mantle might have been the same, only that they were spring, instead of autumn, posies. A pretty gown and petticoat of dark blue, with a linen hood, and other things belonging to a young lady's dress, were neatly laid out on the bed. "My aunt hath provided you with a complete change of raiment, you see!" said Mrs. Philippa, with a kind of bitterness in her tone which I did not then understand.