It was some time before Agatha could summon courage to walk up-stairs.

All things seemed so strange. She could hardly realise the fact that she had been driven from Kingcombe by Uncle Brian's own self, and that she was now going to tell Anne Valery that he was here.

At last, calmed by faith in heaven, and in that next holiest faith, love, she opened the door of Anne's bedroom.

It was silent, solemn, and peaceful. There was a prayer-book by the bedside, open at one of the Christmas-day psalms. No one lingered in the room, or about the couch, with sisterly or friendly care; all was serene but lonely, as Anne's whole life had been. At the opening of the door, a faint voice asked, "Who is there?"

"Only I! Oh, Anne, dearest Anne!"

There was a pause of weeping silence, though one only wept. Miss Valery soothed the girl in all sorts of tender ways.

"You have suffered much, my poor child, but it is over now. Forget it.

You will be very happy now."

"And you too--you too, Anne! But why do you lie here so drearily, with no one near you?"

"I like it."

"But you will rise soon? You must get well now they are come home. You little think how anxious all are about you."

"That is kind. Everybody was always very kind to me."

After a few moments, during which Anne lay with her eyes shut, and Agatha watched, with an unaccountable dread, the wonderful, spiritual calm of her features, she suddenly said:

"You have seen him, have you not?"

"Uncle Brian? Yes."

"How does he look? Was he harmed by that--that awful three days at sea?

"No; he seems quite well. He drove me to Thornhurst."

"Then he is here?" And there came a slight trembling over the placid face.

"He had to go back to Kingcombe, I believe," said Agatha, hesitating.

"But he told me to say, if you liked to see an old friend--He does not know how ill you have been," she added, with irrepressible vexation, "or else I should have felt very, very angry, even with Uncle Brian."

"Hush! You do not understand him yet," said Anne, gently, as she once more closed her eyes. Many thoughts seemed to sweep over her, but none left a trace of bitterness behind. She was past all restlessness or suffering now.

"How are you all going to keep Christmas, Agatha? You ought to be very happy. After such a week as this has been, everything seems happiness now."

"Not everything--when you are not with us, Anne--I mean, not with us to-day."

"But I shall be with you, to-day and every day. I believe I shall never be far away from Thornhurst and Kingcombe, and Kingcombe Holm."

She said this more to herself than to Agatha, who listened, her throat choking; then answered abruptly, "You are talking too much--you must be quiet."

Anne smiled--one of her old smiles, so full of cheerfulness. "I think I am quiet enough already, but I will obey."

She turned her face to the pillow, and lay for a long time without moving. At length she said:

"Agatha, I want you to do something for me."

"What is it?"

"I would like to see your husband, and my old friend, Mr. Brian Harper.

Will you go and fetch them?"

"I will to-morrow, but"--

"No--dear, not to-morrow; I must see them to-day--this very Christmas-day. Go--you will not be away long. And we will send the carriage, so that the journey can do Nathanael no harm."

"You are always thinking of every one," said Agatha, as she turned to obey. She felt it was a solemn mission. All her bright plans about Thornhurst grew dim; she could not look forward. Yet, warm in the strength of youth and love, she cherished a faint hope still.

When she reached Kingcombe, Brian had not come home. They sent messengers for him in all directions, but in vain. At last they were forced to drive back without him--hopelessly peering through the dusk to see if they could discern his tall figure across the moors. When they were dashing at full speed through Thornhurst-gate, some one rose up from the hedge beside it, and stopped the horses.

"Is anything the matter at the house? Speak, can't you, fellow?"

The voice hoa.r.s.e and commanding--the tall, spare figure, the grey hair--it could be none other than Brian Harper.

Nathanael called to him. "Uncle Brian, we have been looking for you everywhere. Anne wants to see you. Come."

"I will." He walked away and was lost in the furze-bushes; but when the carriage drove up to the door they found him already standing there.

They all entered the house together.

Anne's maid met them with a delighted countenance. Her mistress was so well--thank G.o.d! She was up, and sitting in the drawing-room!

There in truth she was, in her usual seat, wearing her ordinary dress.

She had taken off the invalid-cap, and her soft hair was arranged as carefully as if no white lines marred its brownness. She looked less old than usual--nay, almost beautiful--so exquisitely peaceful was the expression of her countenance.

Nathanael and his wife hung back, letting Mr. Harper meet her first.

She rose and held out both hands to him. "Welcome home again--welcome home!"

He said nothing, but grasped the hands, and retained them fast. There was a long, long look, eye to eye, face to face,--a look, in which were gathered and summed up all the years since they were young, together,--and then the two old friends sat down side by side. Agatha thought it strange that they should meet in such a calm, commonplace way--but then she was young. She did not know how quietly flows the outward surface of a tide that has flowed on, deep, solemn, and changeless, for five-and-twenty years.

In a little while they were all sitting round the fire--the merry Christmas fire with its blazing pine-log--talking just as naturally and familiarly as though no emotion had stirred them. Anne Valery, resting in her arm-chair, looked on and smiled. She talked little, but listened to the rest, and by an inexplicable sweet calmness, made them all so much at ease, that it seemed to Agatha as if they four had known one another for a whole lifetime, and been always as happy as now.

As the evening advanced, the Christmas dinner was announced.

"I am sorry I cannot sit at the head of my own table to-day, but"--and Miss Valery gently laid her hand on Brian's arm--"you will take my place, old friend?"

He made some unintelligible answer, and they all left the drawing-room.

It was a rather silent dinner; yet, somehow, no one looked sad. No one could, with Anne's cheerful influence pervading the whole house.

Agatha soon rose and rejoined her. She was sitting just as they had left her--but whether it was through the light being dimmer, or through a certain thoughtfulness in her face, Agatha thought she did not look quite the same.

"Are you well?" Are you sure you are not tired? And"--here Agatha ventured to wrap her arms round her and gaze up in her eyes with a fulness of meaning--are you happy?"