It was the 19th of October, I sat at the breakfast-table with Mr. Aylsbury, for I felt too weak and languid to pursue my wanderings. Neither spoke; and to avoid conversation we affected to be engaged reading the papers, when a servant entered with a note—it was from Clara, saying:—"Dear Freville, I purpose dining below stairs to-morrow for the first time since we last met, let me then hope for the pleasure of your company. You shall find me composed, and I know that, for my sake, you will be cheerful at this, probably our last, meeting in the dear Parsonage."
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