was emphatically a man of peace and gentleness, kind hearted and given
to good works; and was, moreover, sincerely anxious to do his duty
impartially to those whom Providence or fate, or a combination of chances
and changes, had somehow contrived to bring together under his roof.

Things had not always been thus with him. In the early days of their
married life Eustace Daintree and Marion his wife had had their home to
themselves, and right well had they enjoyed it. A fairly good living
backed up by independent means, a small rural parish, a pleasant
neighbourhood, a pretty and comfortable vicarage-house--what more can the
hearts of a clergyman of the Church of England and his wife desire? Mr.
and Mrs. Daintree, at all events, had wished for nothing better. But this
blissful state of things was not destined to last; it was, perhaps,
hardly to be expected that it should, seeing that man is born to trouble,
and that happiness is known to be as fleeting as time or beauty or any
other good thing.

When Eustace Daintree had been married five years, his father died,
and his mother, accepting his warmly tendered invitation to come to
Sutton-in-the-Wold upon a long visit, took up her abode in the pleasant
vicarage-house.

Her visit was long indeed. In a weak moment her son consented to her
urgent request to be allowed to subscribe her quota to the household
expenses--this was as good as giving her a ninety-nine years' lease of
her quarters. The thin end of the wedge thus inserted, Mrs. Daintree
_mère_ became immovable as the church tower or the kitchen chimney, and
the doomed members of the family began to understand that nothing short
of death itself was likely to terminate the old lady's residence amongst
them. For the future her son's house became her home.