morning, when ice-drops hung hoary on the fir-trees, as she had
driven away from the portal, whence music was now pealing forth a
greeting, and where Oliver was standing on the very spot where, with
clenched hand, he had vowed that all should be restored.

Alas! how much was in his power to restore?

Gaily-dressed people surrounded the entrance, and, amid triumphant
strains from the band, the carriage stopped, and Oliver held out his
hand, saying, 'Welcome home, mother!'

She leant forward, kissed his brow, and suffered him to lead her up
the steps to the hall-door, Lord Ormersfield conducting Clara. At
the door Mrs. Frost paused, to turn, curtsey, and sign her thanks to
the throng who had followed. Her noble aspect and demeanour, so full
of dignity and feeling, obtained a fresh and more genuine
acclamation; but throughout there was a strange sense of unreality;
she seemed like one performing a part to gratify her son. Clara
asked her cousin if it were not like acting a play; and it was plain
to him that the spectators beheld it with more curiosity than
sympathy.

They were a new race. Property had changed hands rapidly in a region
of trade and manufacture, and the old Dynevor name had been forgotten
past recall, amid the very population who were thriving upon the
identical speculations which had swamped Mr. Frost's fortune. If the
crowd without looked like a mob, the assembly within had a parvenu
appearance; and as Oliver handed his mother across the hall, he
muttered something, as if he were disappointed both in the number and
consequence of his guests.