'My dear,' said Mr. King to his wife, 'I must take in Mrs. Alfred. It is a welcome home, you know. Alfred, you take in Mrs. Lynnton. Come along, child.' And he gave her his arm with great ceremony, and led her into the long, old-fashioned dining-room, which was a blaze of candles, and gave her the seat at his right hand, and immediately called for a fire-screen lest the fire should be too much. 'Or will you sit the other side, my dear?' said he. 'Oh no, sir,' she said, very prettily, out of compliment to his age. 'Oh no, sir, I am best pleased to sit where you wish me to sit.' For by this time the amused look had gone out of her face, and she seemed to have grown sensible of the great kindness these people were trying to show her. Dinner went on, and the conversation rested mainly between Mr. Alfred, who was asking questions about the people in the neighbourhood, and the Vicar, who answered him. But when anything amusing was said, it was addressed to Mrs. Alfred, or else they looked to see whether she was pleased; and she received a great deal of attention from the old gentleman next her, and had many kind things said to her by his wife. But Mrs. Alfred's face grew more and more strange. She seemed depressed and troubled--timid at the same time and self-conscious; once or twice her lips were tremulous. And then all at once she rose, and quickly went to where Mrs. King sat, and threw herself on her knees, and clasped the old lady's knees, and burst into a wild fit of sobbing and crying. The old lady turned very pale, and put her hand on the younger woman's head gently. The servants pretended to see nothing. Mr. Alfred flushed angrily, and said-- 'Jinny, don't make a fool of yourself. Go back to your seat.' Then the elder woman raised her, with a tenderness and compassion not altogether assumed, and led her back, saying-- 'You are tired, my dear. I thought you looked tired, my dear. We will let you go soon to bed tonight.' Then everybody talked at once, and the little incident seemed easily forgotten. Moreover, as the evening progressed, old Stephen King convinced himself that he had done what was best for the bygone Kings of Kingscourt and any Kings of Kingscourt there might be. He would pay off his son's debts once more. These two would be content to remain for years in the country, till bygones should be bygones elsewhere; and even in the country the neighbours might pretend to a convenient ignorance. The Vicar would help him. The Vicar and his wife left about ten; Mr. and Mrs. Alfred retired early; the various agitations that had shaken the old silver-haired dame gave place to a quiescence that was in a measure hopeful. Then sleep overtook the old manor-house, and the silence of the night.