“We took her at her word and went home with her—only a few miles from London—and we were so well satisfied with all we found there that we concluded it would be difficult to do as well, and impossible to do better, anywhere else; and we left the baby with her, with a check for twenty-five pounds, that was to be renewed quarterly. “I may here say that this young woman, Mary Chester, did her full duty by her nurseling, as I found in my periodical visits to the dairy. “As soon as Myrtle Grove was ready for occupation, my father took me down there. “It was a comparatively small place, but a lovely, secluded home, in a deep, green, wooded glen, about three miles inland from the sea. “Here we lived a very quiet life, seeing no one but the vicar, the Rev. Mr. Ashe, of St. Agnes’ Church, the country practitioner, Dr. Ray, and the country lawyer, Mr. Flood, who was my father’s local man of business. “We were both in deep mourning for my stepmother, and that fact justified our seclusion from the world. “Once my brother came down from Eton to spend the Easter holidays. He had never heard of my runaway match, and my father decided that he never should hear of it. “Once a month my father took me to the dairy farm in Kent to see his grandchild—the child of his deceased son,’ as he called my boy, and as the people at the dairy cottage believed him to be. “‘And it is no falsehood, Elfrida, my dear. The lad is my grandchild, and is the child of my deceased son—in-law’—he said. Our deep mourning was supposed by the dairy people to be worn for this same deceased son and brother. “Looking back, I think I had never before spent so calm, peaceful and contented a time as at Myrtle Grove.” CHAPTER XXXVII THE DAWN OF A BRIGHTER DAY “We liked Myrtle Grove so well that we made it our home for three years. Its quiet beauty seemed so soothing and restful after the terrible grandeur of Enderby Castle and the mournful desolation of Weirdwaste. I had a little school of poor children, and a small number of aged and invalid cottagers, whose necessities gave me interest and occupation. “My father was now a recluse and a student, passing most of his time in the small library among his favorite authors, or, if the weather was very fine, sitting in his leather chair under one of the trees in the thickly shaded grounds at the back of the house, with a book in his hand. “My brother came every Christmas and every midsummer to spend his vacation with us. As I mentioned before, he knew nothing of my short, disastrous marriage, and was to know nothing of it. “His talk, when he was at home, was full of Angus Anglesea, his one dear friend. When he was praising this hypocrite I was forced to make some excuse to get out of the room, or to keep a painful silence in it, for I could not contradict him or expose Anglesea’s villainy to me without betraying facts that it was desirable should be kept from him.