"Ay, ay," said Mrs. Easton, smiling. "Of course you will both hate me, but I have come to take you home, Mistress Mary."

"Home!" said Mary; "why, this feels like home."

"No doubt," said Mrs. Easton, "but, for all that, in half an hour we must start."

The married couple remonstrated with one accord, but Mrs. Easton was firm. "I dreamed," said she, "that we were all found out--and that's a warning. Mr. Walter, you know that you'll be missed at Clifford Hall, and didn't ought to leave your father another day. And you, Miss Mary, do but think what a weight I have taken upon my shoulders, and don't put off coming home, for I am almost shaking with anxiety, and for sure and certain my dream it was a warning, and there's something in the wind."

They were both so indebted to this good woman that they looked at each other piteously, but agreed. Walter rang the bell, and ordered the four-wheeler and his own nag.

"Mary, one little walk in that sweet garden."

"Yes, dear," said Mary, and in another moment they were walking in the garden, intertwined like the ivy and the oak, and purring over their present delights and glowing prospects.

In the mean time Mrs. Easton packed up their things: Walter's were enrolled in a light rug with straps, which went upon his saddle. They left the little inn, Mary driving. When they had gone about two miles they came to cross-roads.

"Please pull up," said Mrs. Easton; then turning to Walter, who was riding ridiculously close to Mary's whip hand, "Isn't that the way to Clifford Hall?"

"It's one way," said he; "but I don't mean to go that way. How can I?

It's only three miles more round by your house."

"Nurse," said Mary, appealingly.

"Ay, ay, poor things," said Mrs. Easton. "Well, well, don't loiter, anyway. I shall not be my own woman again till we're safe at the farm."

So they drove briskly on, and in about an hour more they got to a long hill, whence they could see the Gilberts' farm.

"There, nurse," said Mary, pouting a little, "now I hope you're content, for we have got safe home, and he and I shall not have a happy day together again."

"Oh yes, you will, and many happy years," said Mrs. Easton. "Well, yes, I don't feel so fidgety now."

"Oh!" cried Mary, all of a sudden. "Why, there's our gray mare coming down the hill with the dog-cart! Who's that driving her? It's not papa. I declare it's Mr. Hope, come home safe and sound. Dear Mr. Hope! Oh, now my happiness is perfect!"

"Mr. Hope!" screamed Mrs. Easton. "Drive faster, for Heaven's sake! Turn your horse, sir, and gallop away from us as hard as you can!"

"Well, but, Mrs. Easton--" objected Walter.

Mrs. Easton stood up in the carriage. "Man alive!" she screamed, "you know nothing, and I know a deal; begone, or you are no friend of mine: you'll make me curse the hour that I interfered."

"Go, darling," said Mary, kindly, and so decidedly that he turned his horse directly, gave her one look of love and disappointment, and galloped away.

Mary looked pale and angry, and drove on in sullen silence.

Mrs. Easton was too agitated to mind her angry looks. She kept wiping the perspiration from her brow with her handkerchief, and speaking in broken sentences: "If we could only get there first--fool not to teach my sister her lesson before we went, she's such a simpleton!--can't you drive faster?"

"Why, nurse," said Mary, "don't be so afraid of Mr. Hope. It's not him I'm afraid of; it's papa."

"Yon don't know what you're talking about, child. Mr. Bartley is easily blinded; I won't tell you why. It isn't so with Mr. Hope. Oh, if I could only get in to have one word with my simple sister before he turns her inside out!"

This question was soon decided. Hope drove up to the door whilst Mary and Mrs. Eastern were still some distance off and hidden by a turn in the road. When they emerged again into sight of the farm they just caught sight of Hope's back, and Mrs. Gilbert curtseying to him and ushering him into the house.

"Drive into the stable-yard," said Mrs. Easton, faintly. "He mustn't see your travelling basket, anyway."

She told the servant to put the horse into the stable immediately, and the basket into the brew-house. Then she hurried Mary up the back stairs to her room, and went with a beating heart to find Mr. Hope and her sister.

Mrs. Gilbert, though a simple and unguarded woman, could read faces like the rest, and she saw at once that her sister was very much put out by this visit of Mr. Hope, and wanted to know what had pa.s.sed between her and him. This set the poor woman all in a flutter for fear she should have said something injudicious, and there-upon she prepared to find out, if possible, what she ought to have said.

"What! Mr. Hope!" said Mrs. Easton. "Well, Mary will be glad. And have you been long home, sir?"

"Came last night," said Hope. "She hasn't been well, I hear. What is the matter?" And he looked very anxious.

"Well, sir," said Mrs. Easton, very guardedly, "she certainly gave me a fright when she came here. She looked quite pale; but whether it was that she wanted a change--but whatever it was, it couldn't be very serious. You shall judge for yourself. Sister, go to Miss Mary's room, and tell her."

Mrs. Easton, in giving this instruction, frowned at her sister as much as to say, "Now don't speak, but go."

When she was gone, the next thing was to find out if the woman had made any foolish admission to Mr. Hope; so she waited for him.

She had not long to wait.

Hope said: "I hardly expected to see you; your sister said you were from home."

"Well, sir," said Mrs. Easton, "we were not so far off, but we did come home a little sooner than we intended, and I am rare glad we did, for Miss Mary wouldn't have missed you for all the _views_ in the county."

With that she made an excuse, and left him. She found her sister in Mary's room: they were comparing notes.

"Now," said she to Mrs. Gilbert, "you tell me every word you said to Mr.

Hope about Miss Mary and me."

"Well, I said you were not at home, and that is every word; he didn't give me time to say any more for questioning of me about her health."

"That's lucky," said Mrs. Easton, dryly. "Thank Heaven, there's no harm done; he sha'n't see the carriage."

"Dear me, nurse," said Mary, "all this time I'm longing to see him."

"Well, you shall see him, if you won't own to having been a night from home."

Mary promised, and went eagerly to Mr. Hope. It did not come natural to her to be afraid of him, and she was impatient for the day to come when she might tell him the whole story. The reception he gave her was not of a nature to discourage this feeling; his pale face--for he had been very ill--flushed at sight of her, his eyes poured affection upon her, and he held out both hands to her. "This the pale girl they frightened me about!" said he. "Why, you're like the roses in July."

"That's partly with seeing of you, sir," said Mrs. Easton, quietly following, "but we do take some credit to ourselves too; for Miss Mary _was_ rather pale when she came here a week ago; but la, young folks want a change now and then."

"Nurse," said Mary, "I really was not well, and you have done wonders for me, and I hope you won't think me ungrateful, but I _must_ go home with Mr. Hope."

Hope's countenance flushed with delight, and Mrs. Easton saw in a moment that Mary's affection was co-operating with her prudence. "I thought that would be her first word, sir," said she. "Why, of course you will, miss.

There, don't you take any trouble; we'll pack up your things and put them in the dog-cart; but you must eat a morsel both of you before you go.

There's a beautiful piece of beef in the pot, not oversalted, and some mealy potatoes and suet dumplings. You sit down and have your chat, whilst Polly and I get everything ready for you."

Then Mary asked Mr. Hope so many questions with such eager affection that he had no time to ask her any, and then she volunteered the home news, especially of Colonel Clifford's condition, and then she blushed and asked him if he had said anything to her father about Walter Clifford.

"Not much," said Mr. Hope. "You are very young, Mary, and it's not for me to interfere, and I won't interfere. But if you want my opinion, why, I admire the young man extremely. I always liked him; he is a straightforward, upright, manly, good-hearted chap, and has lots of plain good sense--Heaven knows where he got it!"