She had found a seat, where, in excessive trembling that no vampire or mummy encounter could elicit in comparison, she endured all these fearful thoughts. The other three, no longer under any restraint, were giving vent to their feelings of vexation, and mercilessly wishing poor Sir Thomas had been twice as long on his passage, or were still in Antigua.

The Crawfords were more warm on the subject than Mr. Yates, from better understanding the family, and judging more clearly of the mischief that must ensue. The ruin of the play was to them a certainty. Mr. Yates considered it only as a temporary interruption, and could even suggest the possibility of the rehearsal being renewed after tea, when the bustle of receiving Sir Thomas were over. The Crawfords laughed at the idea; and having soon agreed on the propriety of their walking quietly home and leaving the family to themselves, proposed Mr. Yates accompany them to spend the evening at the Parsonage. But Mr. Yates could not perceive it necessary. He said “he preferred remaining where he was, that he might pay his respects to the old gentleman handsomely.”

Fanny was just beginning to collect herself, when this point was settled, and being commissioned with the brother and sister’s apology, quitted the room herself to perform the dreadful duty of appearing before her uncle.

Too soon did she find herself at the drawing-room door. After pausing for courage, she turned the lock in desperation, and the lights of the drawing-room, and all the collected family, were before her. As she entered, her own name caught her ear. Sir Thomas was at that moment looking round him, and saying, “But where is Fanny? Why do not I see my little Fanny?”

On perceiving her, came forward with a kindness which astonished and penetrated her, calling her his dear Fanny, kissing her affectionately, and observing with decided pleasure how much she was grown! Fanny knew not how to feel, nor where to look. He had never been so very kind to her in his life. His manner seemed changed, his voice was quick from the agitation of joy and tenderness. He led her nearer the light and looked at her again—observing that he need not inquire about her health, for her appearance spoke sufficiently on that point.

Her fine blush replacing paleness pointed to her equal improvement in health and beauty. He inquired next after her family, William, and his kindness was such as made her reproach herself for loving him so little, and thinking his return a misfortune. She saw that he was grown thinner, and had the burnt, worn look of fatigue and a hot climate, attaining almost that dreadful “windblown sailor” complexion that so many servants seemed to wear around the house.