CHAPTER XXIX.
HOME AGAIN--HOME NEWS--THE VERY END.
Now it is past it seems like a dream, my life at The Vine, with its sad end, if indeed that can be justly called a sad end which took away together, and with little pain, those dear souls whose married life had not known the parting of a day, and who in death were not (even by a day) divided.
And so I went back to the moors.

I was weak and ill when I started, but every breath of air on my northward journey seemed to bring me strength.
There are no events in that porter's life, I am convinced.

He looked just the same, and took me and my boxes quite coolly, though I felt inclined to shake hands with him in my delight.

I did cry for very joy as we toiled up the old sandy hill, and the great moors welcomed me back.

Then came the church, then the Vicarage, with the union-jack out of my window, and the villagers were at their doors--and I was at home.
Oh, how the dear boys tore me to pieces! There was no very special news, it seemed.