Do what he would, the old dull
weight of _home-sickness_ began to oppress him, his heart beat fast as he
thought of his approaching meeting with his father and mother, "and I
shall have," he said to himself, "to kiss Charlotte."
Would his father meet him at the station? Would he greet him as though
nothing had happened, or would he be cold and distant? How, again, would
he take the news of his son's good fortune? As the train drew up to the
platform, Ernest's eye ran hurriedly over the few people who were in the
station. His father's well-known form was not among them, but on the
other side of the palings which divided the station yard from the
platform, he saw the pony carriage, looking, as he thought, rather
shabby, and recognised his father's coachman. In a few minutes more he
was in the carriage driving towards Battersby. He could not help smiling
as he saw the coachman give a look of surprise at finding him so much
changed in personal appearance. The coachman was the more surprised
because when Ernest had last been at home he had been dressed as a
clergyman, and now he was not only a layman, but a layman who was got up
regardless of expense.
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