Her return home, and her plan of travelling, were soon settled by her hearing of a friend who was at this time returning to Bath from Cheltenham, and whose escort was offered her. Perhaps the pleasure of piquing Clair, added a little zest to the preparations which were carried on with a cheerfulness that surprised him. Deeply touched himself by recent events, and quite unable to recover his spirits, he regarded her with a wonder not a little mingled with contempt. Mabel herself, as keenly susceptible to pain as she was open to pleasure, could scarcely understand the variable nature of her cousin's disposition, which, at times attracted her by its _naiveté_ and candour, at others, alarmed her by its indifference and frivolity. Though really a little hurt at the coolness with which she prepared to leave her, directly it suited her own convenience, after her many professions, she suffered her to take her course without remark; particularly when she found, from the account she received of her conversation with Clair, that she could not preserve towards him, the composure necessary to ensure her own dignity. All was, therefore, soon arranged, and Lucy, as the parting drew near, became so affectionately distressed, that Mabel quickly forgave her previous indifference, and parted from her with a regret, she had scarcely supposed she could have felt a few weeks before. As she stood for several moments in the garden, watching the vehicle which bore her from the village, her thoughts naturally recurred to the hour when, with far different feelings, she had stood in the same place to wait her coming. The scene was the same, and yet how changed. There was not a leaf upon the many bold trees which skirted the landscape. Here and there round the garden a single monthly rose bloomed in place of the many gay, autumnal flowers, which had then been so brilliant. Heavy clouds hung overhead, and silently and gloomily feathery pieces of snow fell through the cold air. "It is the sunshine of the heart that is gone," thought Mabel, unconsciously clasping her hands, and glancing at the scene around her; while she remembered how comparatively free from care she had been that day, and how gladly had the little Amy waited to catch the first sight of the expected carriage, how eagerly she had watched the first peep of the high road. Where was she now, poor child? when would her light feet carry her so merrily to that gate again. "I know it must be right," thought Mabel, as if unwilling to dwell longer on feelings and afflictions which unnerved her; but sick at heart, and with tears swimming in her eyes, she turned towards the house. She stopped on hearing Clair's voice, who approached to meet her, having waited till the parting was over, hoping to remove any feeling of loneliness she might experience on Lucy's departure. His steps were sedate, and his countenance serious and reflective, as it had of late become.