the gates of the park; a little square house of red brick with a high
pointed roof and a little garden. The walls were overgrown with creepers
which had once been trained with considerable care, but which during the
last two years had thriven in untrimmed luxuriance and now covered the
whole of the side of the house which faced the road. So thickly did they
grow that it was with difficulty that the windows could at first be
opened. The vicar sighed as he entered the darkened rooms. His daughter
had lived in the cottage when she first married the young doctor who had
now gone to London, and the vicar had been, and was, very fond of his
daughter. He had almost despaired of ever seeing her again in
Billingsfield; the only glimpses of her he could obtain were got by going
himself to town, for the doctor was so busy that he always put off the
projected visit to the country and his wife was so fond of him that she
refused to go alone. The vicar sighed as he forced open the windows upon
the lower floor and let the light into the bare and empty rooms which had
once been so bright and full of happiness. He wondered what sort of
person Mrs. Goddard would turn out to be upon nearer acquaintance, and
made vague, unconscious conjectures about her furniture as he stumbled
up the dark stairs to the upper story.

He was not left long in doubt. The arrangements were easily concluded,
for the cottage belonged to the estate in Chancery and the lawyer in
charge was very busy with other matters. The guarantee afforded by the
vicar's personal application, together with the payment of a year's rent
in advance so far facilitated matters that four days after she had
written to Mr. Ambrose the latter informed Mrs. Goddard that she was at
liberty to take possession. The vicar suggested that the Billingsfield
carrier, who drove his cart to London once a week, could bring her
furniture down in two trips and save her a considerable expense; Mrs.
Goddard accepted this advice and in the course of a fortnight was