letter to Sir Philip. I turned my whole imagination right away from
all that subject. My uncle remained with me until nigh midsummer,
and then returned to his business in London; leaving me perfectly
well, although not completely strong. I was to follow him in a
fortnight; when, as he said, "we would look over letters, and talk
about several things." I knew what this little speech alluded to,
and shrank from the train of thought it suggested, which was so
intimately connected with my first feelings of illness. However, I
had a fortnight more to roam on those invigorating Yorkshire moors.

In those days, there was one large, rambling inn, at Harrogate, close
to the Medicinal Spring; but it was already becoming too small for
the accommodation of the influx of visitors, and many lodged round
about, in the farm-houses of the district. It was so early in the
season, that I had the inn pretty much to myself; and, indeed, felt
rather like a visitor in a private house, so intimate had the
landlord and landlady become with me during my long illness. She
would chide me for being out so late on the moors, or for having been
too long without food, quite in a motherly way; while he consulted me
about vintages and wines, and taught me many a Yorkshire wrinkle
about horses. In my walks I met other strangers from time to time.
Even before my uncle had left me, I had noticed, with half-torpid
curiosity, a young lady of very striking appearance, who went about
always accompanied by an elderly companion,--hardly a gentlewoman,
but with something in her look that prepossessed me in her favour.
The younger lady always put her veil down when any one approached; so
it had been only once or twice, when I had come upon her at a sudden
turn in the path, that I had even had a glimpse at her face. I am
not sure if it was beautiful, though in after-life I grew to think it
so. But it was at this time overshadowed by a sadness that never