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Updated: June 26, 2025
Bundlecombe's address, thanks to the letter which had been written to the governor by Mrs. Chigwin, she came to Birchmead on Monday lingering an hour or two at Angleford in order that she might see her native place again, and recall the image of the father whom she had loved and lost. Now, at length, her heart was in a measure contented and at rest.
At Angleford, in the meantime, they watched his career with proud hearts and loving sympathy. Mrs. Campion, in particular, doted on her son. She even scanned the paper every morning, never by any chance missing an item of law intelligence, where occasionally she would be rewarded by coming across Sydney's name. She would not have considered any distinction, however great, to be more than his due.
Lettice had always thought well of Mr. Dalton. He reminded her of Angleford, and the happy days of her early youth. In London he had been genial with her, and attentive, and considerate in every sense, so that she had been quite at her ease with him.
She would have been the last to admit that it was so; but the fact was clear enough to the few persons who used to visit them at Angleford.
Birchmead, a hamlet which had some repute of its own as a particularly healthy place, stood further down the river on which Angleford was built, and its merits generally threw those of neighboring villages into the shade. But Angleford was in itself a pretty little nook, and its inhabitants somewhat prided themselves on its seclusion from the world.
The further development of brother and sister can scarcely be understood without a retrospective glance at their own and their parents' history. The Reverend Lawrence Campion, Rector of Angleford, was at this time a prosperous and contented man. Before he reached his fortieth year, he had been presented by an old college friend to a comfortable living.
"Yes," he said, looking rather surprised, "you spoke as if you knew her. Did you ever see Mrs. Bundlecombe?" "I I had heard her name." "At Angleford? Or Thorley?" "Of course, I heard of Mr. Bundlecombe there." "Is it not strange," Alan said, after a short pause, "that I never knew you came from Angleford until that morning when I brought you one of your father's books?
She had not much in common with Sydney now-a-days; but she knew that he was just married, and that he loved his wife, and she thought that he might perhaps have only kindly words in store for her words written perhaps when his heart was soft with a new sort of tenderness. Lettice was hungering for a word of love and sympathy. She opened, the letter and read: "ANGLEFORD, Easter Tuesday.
In addition to the new plenishing, there were in the house a few favorite pieces of furniture which had been saved from the wreck at Angleford; and Sydney perhaps as a sign that he recognized some redeeming features in her desire to be independent had made one room look quite imposing with an old-fashioned bookcase, and a library table and chair.
But he was more or less consciously building on the hope that Dalton's suit would prosper, and that Lettice would settle down quietly as the mistress of Angleford Manor, and so be weaned from the somewhat equivocal situation of a successful author. It did not so much as enter his mind, by the way, that there was anything equivocal in Mrs. Westray's authorship.
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