years ago, a Mr. Eyre teshead and wanted to see
you. Missis said you were at school fifty miles off: he seemed
so much disappointed, for he could not stay; he was going
on a voyage to a foreign country, and the ship was to sail
from London in a day or two. He looked quite a gentleman,
and I believe he was your father's brother."

"What foreign country was he going to, Bessie?"

"An island thousands of miles off, where they make wine
-- the butler did tell me --"

"Madeira?" I suggested.

"Yes; that is it -- that is the very word."

"So he went?"

"Yes; he did not stay many minutes in the house: Missis
was very high with him; she called him afterwards a 'sneak-
ing tradesman.' My Robert believes he was a wine mer-
chant."

"Very likely," I returned; "or perhaps clerk or agent to a
wine merchant."

Bessie and I conversed about old times an hour longer, and
then she was obliged to leave me: I saw her again for a few
minutes the next morning at Lowton, while I was waiting
for the coach. We parted finally at the door of the Brockle-
hurst Arms there: each went her separate way: she set off for
the brow of Lowood Fell to meet the conveyance which was
to take her back to Gateshead; I mounted the vehicle which
was to bear me to new duties and a new life in the unknown
environs of Millcote.

A NEW chapter in a novel is something like a new scene
in a play; and when I draw up the curtain this time,
reader, you must fancy you see a room in the George Inn at
Millcote, with such large figured papering on the walls as inn
rooms have; such a carpet, such furniture, such ornaments on
the mantel-piece, such prints, including a portrait of George
the Third, and another of the Prince of Wales, and a repre-
sentation of the death of Wolfe. All this is visible to you by

-96-