just time for a fresh administration of camphor before Mr. Kendal
came forth from his study, and gave her his arm.

The front door opened on a narrow sweep, the river cutting it off
from the road, and crossed by two wooden bridges, beside each of
which stood a weeping-willow, budding with fresh spring foliage.
Opposite were houses of various pretentious, and sheer behind them
rose the steep hill, with the church nearly at the summit, the noble
spire tapering high above, and the bells ringing out a cheerful
chime. The mist had drawn up, and all was fresh and clear.

'There go Lizzie and Loo!' cried Lucy, 'and the Admiral and Mrs.
Osborn. I'll run and tell them papa is come home.'

Sophy was setting off also, but Mr. Kendal stopped them, and lingered
a moment or two, making an excuse of looking for a needless umbrella,
but in fact to avoid the general gaze. As if making a desperate
plunge, however, and looking up and down the broad street, so as to
be secure that no acquaintance was near, he emerged with Albinia from
the gate, and crossed the road as the chime of the bells changed.

'We are late,' he said. 'You will prefer the speediest way, though
it is somewhat steep.'

The most private way, Albinia understood, and could also perceive
that the girls would have liked the street which sloped up the hill,
and thought the lilac and green insulted by being conducted up the
steep, irregular, and not very clean bye-lane that led directly up
the ascent, between houses, some meanly modern, some picturesquely
ancient, with stone steps outside to the upper story, but all with