house; nay, rather that he listened with some attention to Thyrza's
report that the lady had promised to call again.

On the afternoon of the call, the skies were clear of rain, though not of
cloud. The great gashed mountain to the north which Dixon called
Saddleback, while a little Cumbria "guide," produced by Tyson, called it
Blencathra, showed sombrely in a gray light; and a November wind was busy
stripping what leaves still remained from the woods by the stream and in
the hollows of the mountain. Landscape and heavens were of an iron
bracingness and bareness; and the beauty in them was not for eyes like
Netta's. She had wandered out forlornly on the dank paths descending to
the stream. Edmund as usual was interminably busy fitting up one of the
lower rooms for some of his minor bric-à-brac--ironwork, small bronzes,
watches, and clocks. Anastasia and the baby were out.

Would Anastasia stay? Already she looked ill; she complained of her
chest. She had made up her mind to come with the Melroses for the sake of
her mother and sister in Rome, who were so miserably poor. Netta felt
that she--the mistress--had some security against losing her, in the mere
length and cost of the journey. To go home now, before the end of her
three months, would swallow up all the nurse had earned; for Edmund would
never contribute a farthing. Poor Anastasia! And yet Netta felt angrily
toward her for wishing to desert them.

"For of course I shall take her home--in March. We shall all be going
then," she said to herself with an emphasis, almost a passion, which yet
was full of misgiving.

Suddenly, just as she had returned by a steep path to the dilapidated
terrace on the north side of the house--a sound of horses' feet and