The next day Lilias was on her way to London; feeling, as she left Beechcroft, that it was a great relief that the schoolroom and storeroom could not follow her. She was sorry that she should miss seeing Alethea Weston, who was to come home the next day, but she left various messages for her, and an affectionate note, and had received a promise from her sisters that the copy of the music should be given to her the first day that they saw her. Her journey afforded her much amusement, and it was not till towards the end of the day that she had much time for thinking, when, her companions being sleepily inclined, she was left to her own meditations and to a dull country. She began to revolve her own feelings towards Eleanor, and as she remembered the contempt and ingratitude she had once expressed, she shrank from the meeting with shame and dread, and knew that she should feel reproached by Eleanor’s wonted calmness of manner. And as she mused upon all that Eleanor had endured, and all that she had done, such a reverence for suffering and sacrifice took possession of her mind that she was ready to look up to her sister with awe. She began to recollect old reproofs, and found herself sitting more upright, and examining the sit of the folds of her dress with some uneasiness at the thought of Eleanor’s preciseness. In the midst of her meditations her two companions were roused by the slackening speed of the train, and starting up, informed her that they were arriving at their journey’s end. The next minute she heard her father consigning her and the umbrellas to Mr. Hawkesworth’s care, and all was bewilderment till she found herself in the hall of her aunt’s house, receiving as warm and affectionate a greeting from Eleanor as Emily herself could have bestowed. ‘And the baby, Eleanor?’ ‘Asleep, but you shall see him; and how is Ada? and all of them? why, Claude, how well you look! Papa, let me help you to take off your greatcoat—you are cold—will you have a fire?’ Never had Lily heard Eleanor say so much in a breath, or seen her eye so bright, or her smile so ready, yet, when she entered the drawing-room, she saw that Mrs. Hawkesworth was still the Eleanor of old. In contrast with the splendid furniture of the apartments, a pile of shirts was on the table, Eleanor’s well-known work-basket on the floor, and the ceaseless knitting close at hand. Much news was exchanged in the few minutes that elapsed before Eleanor carried off her sister to her room, indulging her by the way with a peep at little Harry, and one kiss to his round red cheek as he lay asleep in his little bed. It was not Eleanor’s fault that she did not entirely dress Lily, and unpack her wardrobe; but Lilias liked to show that she could manage for herself; and Eleanor’s praise of her neat arrangements gave her as much pleasure as in days of yore.