"Not now, my dear, I am engaged," was the frequent reply. She managed to learn, however, that a visit to her grandfather had already been planned for that week, and that Mrs Forrest intended to leave her at his house at Dornton and fetch her again after driving farther on to make a call. With this she was obliged to be satisfied, and it was quite strange how, after a few days, the new surroundings and rules and pleasures of Waverley seemed to make much that had filled her mind on her arrival fade and grow less important. She still wished to see her grandfather again; but the idea of being his chief comforter and support now seemed impossible, and rather foolish, and she would not have hinted it to Aunt Sarah on any account. Neither did it seem necessary, as the days went on, to mention her drive with Mr Oswald and the accident of passing her grandfather in the lane. CHAPTER FOUR. THE PROFESSOR. ...I have heard a grave divine say that God has two dwellings--one in heaven, and the other in a meek and thankful heart.--_Izaak Walton_. "Del, my love," said Mrs Hunt, "I feel one of my worst headaches coming on. Will you go this afternoon to see Mrs Winn, instead of me?" Delia stood under the medlar tree on the lawn, ready to go out, with a bunch of roses in her hand, and her violin-case. She looked at her mother inquiringly, for Mrs Hunt had not just then any appearance of discomfort. She was sitting in an easy canvas chair, a broad-brimmed hat upon her head, and a newspaper in her hands; her slippered feet rested on a little wooden stool, and on a table by her side were a cup of tea, a nicely buttered roll, and a few very ripe strawberries. "Hadn't you better wait," said Delia, after a moment's pause, "until you can go yourself? Mrs Winn would much rather see you. Besides--it is my music afternoon." Mrs Hunt was looking up and down the columns of the paper while her daughter spoke: she did not answer at once, and when she did, it was scarcely an answer so much as a continuation of her own train of thoughts. "She has had a tickling cough for so many nights. She can hardly sleep for it, and I promised her a pot of my own black currant jelly." "It's a great deal out of my way," said Delia. "If you go," continued Mrs Hunt, without raising her eyes, "you will find the row of little pots on the top shelf of the storeroom cupboard." Delia bit her lip. "If I go," she said, "I must shorten my music-lesson." Mrs Hunt said nothing, but looked as amiable as ever. A frown gathered on Delia's forehead: she stood irresolute for a minute, and then, with a sudden effort, turned and went quickly into the house. Mrs Hunt stirred her tea, tasted a strawberry, and leant back in her chair with a gentle sigh of comfort. In a few minutes Delia reappeared hurriedly. "There is _no_ black currant jelly in the storeroom," she said, with an air of exasperation. Mrs Hunt looked up in mild surprise.