"I'd come to see you off to-morrow," he said, as he held her hand at
parting, "but I have an early rehearsal. Good-bye, and God bless you,"
he added, in a very low voice.
When he had gone Celia mopped her eyes and finished her packing, and the
next morning a taxi bore her from the Buildings. She looked out of the
window as long as the huge and grimy place remained in sight, and she
sighed when it had disappeared. In a sense she still belonged to The
Jail; for there had been no time to dispose of her furniture, and she
was so rich that she felt justified in keeping on the room for a while.
The rent was only a few shillings a week, and she could well afford to
pay it, at any rate until she had decided to sell the furniture. At the
bottom of her heart was the desire to keep it, for the sake of its
association: perhaps they would let her have it at Thexford Hall?
The journey, which no doubt most of the passengers considered a long
one, was to Celia a delightful experience, for she had been immured in
London long enough to enjoy the change. Her heart beat fast and her
breath came quickly, with suppressed excitement and a touch of anxiety,
as the train drew up to the small station of Thexford. On the platform
stood a tall footman, and as she alighted he came up, touched his hat,
and spoke her name. The station-master and the porter were in attendance
also, and all three received her as if she were a person of consequence.
The footman led the way to a landaulette car, touched his hat again as
he closed the door on her, and the car glided off, carrying Celia still
nearer to the unknown.
They ran through a beautiful, undulating country, dotted here and there
with farms. Then the way grew wilder. They passed across a stretch of
moorland, turned into an avenue guarded by huge iron gates, and,
mounting quickly, stopped before an old red brick mansion, the size and
grandeur of which filled Celia with awe. The great door opened, and a
footman, behind him a middle-aged lady in a black silk dress, stood
ready to receive Celia.
"I am the housekeeper--Mrs. Dexter," said the lady, pleasantly. "I am
afraid you have had a wearisome journey, Miss Grant. Let me take you to
your room at once."
They crossed a large hall, lit by the afternoon sun, which, streaming
through a window of stained glass, poured flashes of vari-coloured light
on the antique furniture, the men in armour, the trophies and pictures
on the wall. Mrs. Dexter led the way up a broad flight of stairs to a
room on the first floor, a room so large and beautiful that Celia had
difficulty in repressing an exclamation.