“This note removed every difficulty at once, as far as I was concerned. I was thus not supposed to have any knowledge whatever of the occasion of this summons, but was merely to be an attendant on my sister’s steps. Now, sir, it is very remarkable, and I have never since been able to account for it, that though I have generally well remembered (as you have heard) the state of the sky and weather, and the little incidents of the journey, on every other occasion that I have thought of sufficient importance to relate to you, (for such things always make a deep impression on the mind of a mountaineer,) yet, on this occasion—one of the last that I shall ever forget—the whole landscape is to me a perfect blank, and I have not the slightest recollection of any single event that occurred from the moment when poor Martha and I left our father’s door, to that when we stood before the parsonage of Seathwaite, and were welcomed by Robert Walker into his dark and spacious dining-room! _That_ welcome, and the soft yet somewhat melancholy smile on his countenance, I shall _never_ forget. As we stood together, looking out from the long low window on the rich landscape before us, we saw the handsome stranger cross the little foot-bridge that led from the other side of the Duddon to the Parsonage, and make his way directly for the door of the house. Martha, who was the first to observe him, turned very pale, as if on the point of fainting, and said in an anxious low voice to Mr. Walker, ‘I cannot meet him here!’ and made for the door as if to escape. The old man laid his hand gently on her arm and said, ‘You are too late to avoid him, but go behind the _squab_ if you wish not to be seen; you will be safe enough there.’ “This squab was a long oaken seat, or settle, with a high wooden back, running from the fire-place half way down the middle of the room. I dare say such seats (and very uncomfortable they are) are still to be found in most of the old farm-houses in the North. “The stranger entered as Martha disappeared; and I was very much struck with the ease and grace of his manner. He wore the look and air of one who was on the best possible terms with himself and all the world. Much as I felt disposed to dislike him, I could not help admiring both his person and address. There was an awkwardness and nervous action about Mr. Walker, which I now observed for the first time, that showed to great disadvantage when compared with the stranger’s ease and self-possession. “After courteously placing a seat for his visitor, Mr. Walker took his accustomed place in his arm-chair in the corner, and then his wonted calmness and dignity at once returned. The stranger was the first to break the silence.