His home was now utterly desolate. He wandered as she had done before, like an unquiet spirit, from room to room. He pictured to himself what must have been her feelings when she tore herself from them. He longed to know how she had passed that last sad month; he wished for every trifling detail concerning her occupations, her looks, and yet he did not like to question the servants. He saw in their faces an expression of wonder and dismay; they moved about with stealthy steps, and spoke with subdued voices, while in the part of the house which he inhabited; or else, as he passed by the offices, he heard the loud laugh proceeding from the servants-hall, or the blithe carol of the laundry-maids over their wash-tub, which jarred his feelings, and he was tempted to exclaim mentally against the heartlessness of menials. Their curiosity, and their want of sympathy, both checked the inclination to question them concerning Ellen, which his restlessness caused frequently to arise in his bosom. Moreover, he scarcely knew in what terms to speak of her. Mrs. Topham, however, spared him the trouble of deciding for himself. A few days after his return, she made her appearance to receive his orders about the furniture of the chintz-room, saying that Mrs. Hamilton had desired her to ask him what he wished to have done, and also to inquire his pleasure concerning the neck-cloths. He begged her to use her own discretion on those subjects, but still detained her in conversation, hoping she would, of her own accord, allude to Ellen. Finding that Mrs. Topham’s discourse was strictly confined to her business, he ventured at length to say, “I am afraid your mistress was not quite well when she left Belhanger?” “Why certainly, sir, Mrs. Hamilton did not look so well as she used to do. There was not a servant in the house that did not remark it. But it was very lonesome for her here by herself, and we thought perhaps that was the reason she appeared so low. I am sure, sir, we all heartily wished for you back again, if it was only for our poor mistress’s sake.” Mrs. Topham, whose curiosity had only been repressed by her respectful discretion, had no mind to lose this opportunity of ascertaining whether her master and mistress were really parted or not, and of satisfactorily clearing up the mystery of their late proceedings. “I suppose, sir,” she continued, “my mistress will be coming back soon;—do you not think it would be a good thing to get the muslin curtains in the boudoir washed before her return?”