And I said no more, but one thing was as certain as my life itself--the man who had waved me back from following him along the pavements of the Commercial Road was most surely no other man than my father. CHAPTER XXVIII EASTMINSTER The days that followed were, in a sense, like the calm before the threatened storm. As the date of my father’s promised return to Eastminster drew near, every day I expected to hear from Alice that he had abandoned his purpose, and that Northshire would see him no more. But no such letter came. On the contrary, when news did come it was news which astonished me. “You will be glad to hear,” Alice wrote, “that father came back last night looking better, although rather thin. He did not seem to have understood that you were already with Mrs. Fortress, and I think he was disappointed not to see you. At the same time, considering that you have acted without consulting him in any way, and that there is certainly some room for doubt as to the wisdom of the step you have taken, I think that he takes your absence very well. He wants you to come down in a week for a day or two. No doubt you will be able to manage this. You must stay for a Sunday. Father preached last evening, and there was quite a sensation. Lady Bolton has been so kind. She says that the Bishop is continually congratulating himself upon having found father in the diocese. I have not seen either Mr. Deville or Miss Berdenstein since I left the Vicarage. As you can imagine I have been terribly busy. The house here is simply delightful. The old oak is priceless, and there are such quaint little nooks and corners everywhere. Do come at once. Ever your loving sister, Alice.” I passed the letter across to my mother, and when she had finished it she looked with a smile into my still troubled face. “That proves finally that you were wrong,” she remarked, quietly. “I suppose you have no more doubts about it?” I shook my head. I did not commit myself to speech. “I suppose I must have been mistaken,” I said. “It was a wonderful likeness.” “He wants to see you,” she continued, looking wistfully across at me. “You know what that means?” “Yes,” I answered. “I think I know what that means.” “He will try to make you leave me,” she went on. “Perhaps he will be right. At any rate, he will think that he is right. It will be a struggle for you, child. He has a strong will.” “I know it,” I answered; “but I have made up my mind. Nothing will induce me to change it--nothing, at any rate, that my father will be able to say. Another month like the last would kill me. Besides, I do not think that I was meant for a clergyman’s daughter--I am too restless. I want a different sort of life. No, you need not fear. I shall come back to you.” “If I thought that you would not,” she said, “I should be very unhappy. I have made so many plans for the future--our future.”