He came at her bidding, and stood a little way within the door, tall,
erect, square-shouldered, resolute-looking, with a quiet force of
character expressed in every feature. He was very much the same man that
he had been forty years ago, when he went with her ladyship to
Southampton, and accompanied his master and mistress on that tedious
journey which was destined to be Lord Maulevrier's last earthly
pilgrimage. Time had done little to Steadman in those forty years,
except to whiten his hair and beard, and imprint some thoughtful lines
upon his sagacious forehead. Time had done something for him mentally,
insomuch as he had read a great many books and cultivated his mind in
the monotonous quiet of Fellside. Altogether he was a superior man for
the passage of those forty years.
He had married within the time, choosing for himself the buxom daughter
of a lodgekeeper, whose wife had long been laid at rest in Grasmere
churchyard. The buxom girl had grown into a bulky matron, but she was a
colourless personage, and her existence made hardly any difference in
James Steadman's life.
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