The journey down to Herondale cannot be described: whenever Ida thought
of it in the after years, she felt herself trembling and quivering with
the memory of it. Until she had sat in the carriage, and the train had
started and she realised that she was indeed going home--home!--she did
not know what it had cost her to leave Herondale, how much she had
suffered at Laburnum Villa, how deep the iron of dependence had entered
her soul. She was all of a quiver with delight, with profound gratitude
to the Providence which was restoring her to the old house, the wide
moors, the brawling streams which she knew now were dearer to her than
life itself.
Mr. Wordley understood, and was full of sympathy with her mood. He
bought newspapers and magazines, and he let her alone and pretended to
read; but every now and then she met his smiling glance, and knew by
his nod of the head that he was rejoicing with her.
He had wired for a carriage and pair to meet them at Bryndermere, and
Ida leant back and tried to be patient, then to look unconcerned and
calm and composed; but she uttered a little cry and nearly broke down
when the carriage stopped at the familiar gate, and Jessie, who was
standing there, with her hair blown wild by the wind, forgot the
inequalities of their positions, and catching her beloved young
mistress to her bosom crooned and sobbed over her.
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