The Grim House by Mary Louisa Molesworth — Read

I awoke the next morning with a certain feeling of relief. Clarence Payne, it is true, had given me no definite advice as yet, but it was a comfort to know that he, to a great extent, understood and certainly sympathised with my position. Then, too, I was thankful to have his assurance that Caryll Grey's condition was not quite such a critical one as I had begun to fear; not improbably indeed, if any action were taken on the knowledge that had come to me, even if it affected the whole fortunes of the Grey family satisfactorily, it might have to be kept secret from the younger brother till he had progressed further towards the partial recovery which there now seemed some hope of. And in the meantime, I felt well content to rest on my oars for a little, knowing that I had done what I could for the best. There was something bracing and strengthening in Clarence's simple belief that when one so acted, direction -- guidance -- call it what you will, would come.

I shall always remember that Sunday in Granville Square. Owing possibly, in part, to the sort of nervous tension I had worked myself up to, now succeeded by a reaction to comparative restfulness, it has left on my memory an association of peculiar peacefulness. To a country-bred person, in those days perhaps more than now, the quiet of the London streets on a Sunday struck me agreeably, and this quiet one I enjoyed to the full in my present quarters. The old-fashioned square was almost as silent as in the middle of the night, and indoors, though the Paynes were far from puritanical either in belief or practice, the first day of the week was observed somewhat strictly, in the sense, above all, of its being reposeful and calm for the whole household, servants as well as masters. Not that at my godmother's the true spirit of the fourth commandment was set aside, but she was of a different nature, and seemed to belong to a different order of things, socially speaking.