At first I determined not to go, but as the knowledge came that, unless I did so my cousins would be plunged into poverty, I gave instructions for my trunk to be packed, and left everything in the hands of a steward. It was with considerable trepidation that I pondered over our meeting; and as I looked farewell on the gardens of my house, on the vineyards and the river, I execrated the memory of the old make-plot. In four days I was on the platform at Carlrhys station, watching with a sort of amazement the train that had brought me disappearing at the curve, and wondering whether the letter I had written from Dover had forewarned the ladies, when a withered groom advanced and touched his hat in antiquated style. ‘Be ye Mr. Rafe?’ he said. ‘Why, God bless me, what am I sayin’--as if I couldn’t tell him from his likeness to Mr. Alston!’ ‘Yes,’ I responded laughingly. ‘I am Rafe Eyre. You are from Furnivaux Castle?’ He wore the old fawn livery with pelicans wrought on the buttons, and a high white crape stock was tied around his neck. ‘You are surely not Stephen, whom my father spoke of so often?’ ‘That I be!’ he cried. I remembered him perfectly now, from my father’s description. In my boyhood, I had been told that he was at least ninety; yet he was still straight as a staff. ‘Miss Rachel’s waiting outside in the carriage, sir,’ he said. ‘Train’s nigh upon an hour late!’ With this gentle hint that his mistress might be growing impatient, he seized my luggage and led me to the gate, where stood a large green chariot. A woman’s voice accosted me. ‘I bid you welcome, cousin.’ And before I could speak I felt my hand taken and held. The sunlight was gleaming so fiercely, that I could scarcely distinguish the features that smiled beneath the crown of red-golden hair; but when I did so it was with a start of astonishment, for Rachel Verelst’s beauty had become transcendent. She leaned back against the soft olive velvet cushions, and after insisting on my sitting at her side, she gave the order, and we were driven through the stretches of woodland and moor, and over the miles of park road that lead to Furnivaux. Half bewildered I continually turned to look at my companion. Strange to say she did not wear mourning, but a gown of yellow tulle, worked in high relief with golden flowers, and the outline of her splendidly proportioned figure was visible through the gauzy folds. Whether it was that my arrival had excited her, or that it was her ordinary motion, I could not tell, but her heart was beating wildly beneath its coverings, and floods of a rich colour sped to and from her cheeks. Her bizarre conversation related much to the object of my visit. The peculiarity of the circumstances she took little heed of, and having at the first moment leaped into the familiarity of an old friend, she tacitly refused to vacate the position.