Charlotte herself interrupted the conclusion of the sentence. She came in, dressed for dinner. George turned to greet her, his manner warm; his hands outstretched. "Margery said Mr. George was here! I did not believe her!" cried Charlotte, resigning her hands to him. "Did you come on the telegraph-wires?" "They would not have brought me quickly enough to _your_ presence," cried Mr. George. Charlotte laughed gaily. "I was just prophesying you would not come at all. Mrs. Verrall did not inform me that you were about to start, amidst her other items of intelligence. Besides, I know that you are rather addicted to forgetting your promises." "What items had Mrs. Verrall to urge against me?" demanded George. "I forget them now. Nothing I believe. Is Prior's Ash alive still?" "It was, when I left it." "And the fever, George?" inquired Maria. "Fever? Oh, I don't know much about it." "As if fevers were in his way!" ironically cried Charlotte Pain. "He troubles himself no more about fevers than does Lady Godolphin." "Than Lady Godolphin would like to do, I suppose you mean, Miss Pain?" he rejoined. Maria was looking at him wistfully--almost reproachfully. He saw it, and turned to her with a smile. "Has it in truth attacked the cottages down by the Pollards?" she asked. George nodded. He was not so ignorant as he appeared to be. "Poor Bond had it first; and now two of his children are attacked. I understand Mr. Hastings declares it is a judgment upon the town, for not looking better after the hovels and the drainage." "Has Bond recovered?" asked Maria. "No." "Not recovered?" she exclaimed quickly. "He is dead, Maria." She clasped her hands, shocked at the news. "Dead. Leaving that large, helpless family! And Sarah Anne Grame?--is she out of danger?" "From the violence of the fever. But she is in so dangerously weak a state from its effects, that it will be next to a miracle if she recovers. Lady Sarah is half out of her mind. She had prayers put up for Sarah Anne on Sunday. Pretty Ethel has escaped! to the delight of Prior's Ash in general, and of Thomas in particular. What carriage is that?" suddenly broke off George, as the sound of one approaching was heard. It proved to be Sir George's, bringing home himself and my lady. George hastened to meet them as they entered the hall, his handsome face glowing, his bright chestnut hair taking a golden tinge in the lamp-light, his hands held out. "My dear father!" The old knight, with a cry of glad surprise, caught the hands, and pressed them to his heart. My lady advanced with her welcome. She bent her tinted cheek forwards, by way of greeting, and Mr. George touched it with his delicate lips--lightly, as became its softened bloom. "So you have found your way to us, George! I expected you would have done so before." "Did you, madam?"