Lucille was now well enough to come down to the old wainscoted parlour, where her lover had first seen her on that dark winter’s night which, when looked back upon, seemed like the beginning of a new life. Mr. Sivewright still kept his room, but had improved considerably, and had relented towards Mrs. Milderson, whom he graciously allowed to minister to his wants, and would even permit to discourse to him occasionally of the domestic annals of those lady patients into whose family circles she was from time to time admitted. He would make no farther protest than an impatient sniff when the worthy nurse stood for a quarter of an hour, cup-and-saucer in hand, relating, with aggravating precision of date and amplitude of detail, the little differences between Mr. Binks the chandler and his good lady on the subject of washing-days, or the ‘stand-further’ between Mrs. Binks and ‘the girl.’ Under the gentle sway of Mrs. Milderson, who was really an honest and sober specimen of her race, demanding only a moderate supply of those creature-comforts which the Gamp tribe are apt to require, life had gone very smoothly at Cedar House. Mrs. Magsby took charge of the lower part of the premises and her own baby (which seemed to absorb the greater part of her attention), and was altogether a mild and harmless person. Mr. Magsby, as guardian of the house, did nothing particular but walk about with a somewhat drowsy air, and smoke his pipe in open doorways, looking up at the sky, and enunciating speculative prophecies about the weather, which, as he never went out of doors, could have been of very little consequence to him. Thus administered, what citadel could seem more secure than Cedar House? Lucius, after thinking of the subject from every possible point of view, decided that he could run no hazard in absenting himself for a few days. He went at the usual hour that afternoon, when his day’s work was done. Lucille seemed a little brighter and happier than she had been of late, and the change cheered him. ‘My darling,’ he said fondly, as he looked down at the pale face, which had lost something of its care-worn expression, ‘you have almost your old tranquil look—that calm sweet face which came upon me like a surprise one dark November night, nearly a year ago, when yonder door opened, and you came in, carrying a little tray.’ ‘How well you remember things, Lucius! Yes, I have been happier to-day. I have been sitting with grandpapa, and he really seems much better. You do think him improved, don’t you, Lucius?’ ‘I think him on the high-road to recovery. We may have him hale and vigorous yet, Lucille—sitting by the hearth in our new home.’ ‘Our new home—yes,’ said the girl, looking round her with a perceptible shudder, ‘I shall be glad to leave this dull old house some day. It is full of horrible thoughts. But now that I am well again, I can take care of grandpapa.’ ‘Not quite well yet, Lucille; you want care yourself.’