would go back to Barton-on-the-Sea, and rest there for a while,
among the heathery hills, before proceeding any further on my voyage
of discovery.

But I took back Jane with me. I was fond of Jane now. In those two
short weeks I had learned to cling to her. Though I remembered her,
strictly speaking, no more than at first, yet the affection I must
have borne her in my First State seemed to revive in me very easily,
like all other emotions. I was as much at home with Jane, indeed, as
if I had known her for years. And this wasn't strange; for I HAD
known her for years, in point of fact; and and though I'd forgotton
most of those years, the sense of familiarity they had inspired
still lived on with me unconsciously. I know now that memory resides
chiefly in the brain, while the emotions are a wider endowment of
the nervous system in general; so that while a great shock may
obliterate whole tracts in the memory, no power on earth can ever
alter altogether the sentiments and feelings.

As for Jane, she was only too glad to come with me. There were no
lodgers at present, she said; and none expected. Her sister
Elizabeth would take care of the rooms, and if any stranger came,
why, Lizzie'd telegraph down at once for her. So I wrote to Aunt
Emma to expect us both next day. Aunt Emma's, I knew, was a home
where I or mine were always welcome.

Jane had never seen Aunt Emma. There had been feud between the
families while my father lived, so she didn't visit The Grange after
my mother's death. Aunt Emma had often explained to me in part how
all that happened. It was the one point in our family history on
which she'd ever been explicit: for she had a grievance there; and