She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. Not these twenty year. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. Kneebone took his leave. What a contrast did the lovely scene she now gazed upon present to the squalid neighbourhood she had recently quitted! On all sides, expanded prospects of country the most exquisite and most varied. He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it.
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