because it is a long time since the room was slept in before, and
because I thought it would be cheerful for you. I shall sleep in the
next room, till things are settled, so that, if you want anything, you
will only have to run in."

"Thank you," Aggie said gratefully. "It does all seem so big; but I am
sure not to want anything. Thank you."

"Here is your box, miss. Would you like me to help undress you?"

"Oh, no!" Aggie laughed. "Why, of course I can undress myself;" and she
laughed at the idea of assistance being required in such a matter.

"Then, good night!" the housekeeper said. "I shall leave the door ajar,
between the two rooms, when I come to bed."

The next morning, soon after breakfast, Sergeant Wilks was ushered into
the study, where the squire was expecting him. The two men had had hard
thoughts of each other, for many years. The squire regarded the
sergeant as a man who had inveigled his son into marrying his daughter,
while the sergeant regarded the squire as a heartless and unnatural
father, who had left his son to die alone among strangers. The
conversation with John Petersham had taught the sergeant that he had
wronged the squire, by his estimate of him, and that he was to be
pitied rather than blamed in the matter. The squire, on his part, was
grateful to the sergeant for the care he had bestowed upon the child,
and for restoring her to him, and was inclined, indeed, at the moment,
to a universal goodwill to all men.

The sergeant was pale, but self possessed and quiet; while the squire,