Then one exquisite spring morning they went away in sunshine and smiles,
and John returned alone to his lonely and disorderly house. The very
furniture looked forlorn and unhappy. It was piled up and covered with
unsightly white cloths. John hastily closed the doors of the rooms that
had always been so lovely in their order and beautiful associations. He
could not frame himself to work of any kind, his heart was full of
regrets and forebodings. "I will go to my mother," he thought. "Until I
hear they are safe in Lord Harlow's house, I can do nothing at all."
So he went up to Hatton Hall and found his mother setting her
dinner-table. "Eh, but I am glad to see thee, John!" she cried joyfully.
"Come thy ways in, dear lad. There's a nice roast turning over a
Yorkshire pudding; thou art just in a fit time. What brought thee up the
hill this morning?"
"I came to see your face and hear your voice, mother."
"Well now! I am glad and proud to hear that. How is Martha and her
mother?"
"They are on their way to London.
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