"I am just the same, and yet I feel different," she said to herself; "I suppose this storm excites me. I wonder if he meant it when he said he would miss me, or if it was only his way; he must always say something pleasant. I wonder if he would be very sorry if I were never to come back. Would it make any difference to him, really? They are all going to the Abbey this evening; how I wish I could be with them; but this is unkind to my poor Caleb. I am ashamed to think how selfish I am getting. I will try not to think of Hepshaw or Church-Stile House until Monday;" but, in spite of her good resolutions, her thoughts had travelled there again before another half-hour had elapsed. The storm had ceased, but the rain was still pouring steadily down as Queenie plodded through the streets of Carlisle. She had to pass Granite Lodge on her way to Caleb's; but the sight of the grim portico made her shiver and avert her eyes. She gave quite a sigh of relief when she found herself in the dark entry of Caleb's house, with Molly's bright face smiling at her. "Ay, the master's in there. Master, master, here's our young lady come an hour before her time," vociferated the good woman, dropping curtseys profusely in her excitement. "Why, Molly, my dear creature, you need, not to be so ceremonious," exclaimed Queenie, pressing the hard hand between both her own; "it is only Miss Queenie; surely you have not forgotten me in this little time." "No; but I must not forget my manners to my betters," returned Molly, coloring and dropping another hurried curtsey. "But go in there, my dear young lady. I think he is a bit dazed with his sleep, or something, or he would have come out to meet you." Caleb rose from his chair rather feebly as she entered; his blue eyes had certainly a dazed look in them. "Miss Queenie, my dear," he said, rather tremulously, "I am not so young as I was, and things sadly upset me. Molly is a good creature, but her intelligence is limited. I have wanted you badly the last few days, you and the precious lamb." "Dear Caleb, if I had known that I would certainly have brought Emmie." "No, no need; it is only an old man's whim; she is better off where she is. I have been trying to write to you the last day or two, Miss Queenie, my dear; but I got so flurried and made such poor beginnings that I was obliged to give it up, not being so young as I was, my dear, and soon upset by what's over and gone." "I am afraid it has been a sad shock to you," observed Queenie, gravely. Caleb's wrinkled hand was quite cold and shaking, and Queenie rubbed it in a soft, caressing way as she spoke.