"Aunt Rachel!" said Ruth, with a sort of intense quiet, "how dare you?"

"I did nothing but my duty," said Rachel. "If I have exposed to you the character of these men in vain--"

"Exposed! Exposed!" cried Fuller. "What's this here maggot about exposin'? Who talks about exposin' a lad like that? The best lad i' the country-side without a 'ception!"

"You tell me then," said Rachel, turning upon him slowly, as if Ruth's eyes had an attraction for her, and she could scarcely leave them--"you tell me then that this Reuben Gold has your approval in making approaches to your daughter?"

"Approval!" shouted Fuller. "Yis. I've seen 'em gettin' fond on each other this five 'ear, and took a pleasure in it. What's agen the lad?

Nothin' but the mumblin' of a b.u.mble-bee as an old maid's got in her bonnet. A spite agen his uncle is a thing as _is_ understandable."

"Indeed, sir," said Aunt Rachel, with frigid politeness. "Will you tell me why?"

"Well, no," said Fuller. "I'd rather I didn't. Look here. Let's have harmony. I'm no hand at quarrelin', even among the men, let alone among the petticuts. Let's have harmony. The wench has got her letter back, and theer's no harm done. And if theer is, ye'd better fight it out betwigst ye." With this he turned his back and waddled a pace or two.

Then he turned a laughing face upon them, moving slowly on his axis.

"Mek it up," he said, "mek it up. Let's have no ill blood i' the family.

Nothin' like harmony."

Having thus delivered himself he rolled in-doors, and there sat down to his morning pipe. But anger and laughter are alike provocative of thirst, and seeking a jug in the kitchen he took his way to the cellar, and there had a copious draught of small beer, after which he settled himself down in his arm-chair, prepared to make the best of anything which might befall him.

The quarrel from which he had withdrawn himself did not seem so easy to be made up as he had appeared to fancy. Ruth and Rachel stood face to face in silence. To the younger woman the offence which had been committed against her seemed intolerable, and it took this complexion less because of the nature of the act itself than because of its consequences. It had mocked Reuben, and it had made her seem as if she were the mocker.

"You are angry, child!" said Rachel, at length. "I was prepared for that. But I was not prepared for your father's acquiescence in the ruinous course upon which you have entered."

"Ruinous course?" said Ruth.

"I repeat," said the old lady, "the ruinous course upon which you have entered. These men are villains."

"Do they steal other people's letters?" asked Ruth.

"They are villains," repeated Aunt Rachel, ignoring this inquiry.

"Villains, cheats, deceivers. You will rue this day in years to come."

Then, with prodigious sudden stateliness, "I find my advice derided.

My counsels are rebuffed. I wish you a good-morning. I can entertain no further interest in your proceedings."

CHAPTER XII.

Rachel marched from the garden and disappeared through the door-way without a backward glance. The girl, holding the crumpled letter in both hands behind her, beat her foot upon the greensward, and looked downward with flushed cheeks and glittering eyes. Her life had not hitherto been fruitful of strong emotions, and she had never felt so angry or aggrieved as she felt now.

"How did she dare? What can Reuben think of me?"

These were the only thoughts which found form in her mind, and each was poignant.

A knock sounded at the street door, and she moved mechanically to answer it, but catching sight of her father's figure in the hall she turned away, and seated herself at the musicians' table.

Fuller greeted Reuben--for the early visitor was no other than he--with a broad grin, and stuck a facetious forefinger in his ribs.

"Come in, lad, come in," he said, chuckling. "I never seed such a lark i' my born days as we've had here this mornin'."

"Indeed!" said Reuben. "Can I--" He began to blush and stammer a little.

"Can I see Miss Ruth, Mr. Fuller?"

"All i' good time, lad," replied Fuller. "Come in. Sit thee down."

Reuben complied, scarcely at his ease, and wondered what was coming.

"Was you expectin' any sort of a letter last night, Reuben?" the old fellow asked him, with a fat enjoying chuckle.

"Yes, sir," said Reuben, blushing anew, but regarding his questioner frankly.

"Was that what you took away the book o' duets for, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Didst find the letter?" Fuller was determined to make the most of his history, after the manner of men who have stories ready made for them but rarely.

"I don't know," replied Reuben, to the old man's amazement. "Do you know what the letter was about, Mr. Fuller?"

"Don't know?" cried Fuller. "What beest hov-erin' about? Knowst whether thee hadst a letter or not, dostn't?"

"I had a letter," said Reuben, "but I can't think it was meant for me.

Perhaps I ought to have spoken first to you, sir, but I wrote to Miss Ruth yesterday--" There he paused, asking himself how to put this altogether sacred thing into words.

"Didst now?" asked Fuller, unctuously enjoying the young man's discomfort. "What might it ha' been about?"

"I wrote to ask her if she would marry me," said Reuben, with desperate simplicity.

"Ah!" said Fuller. "And what says her to that?"

"I can't believe that I have had her answer," returned Reuben, with much embarra.s.sment. "I found a letter in the book, but I think--I am sure--it is not meant for me."

"You'll find Ruth i' the gardin," said Fuller, puzzled in his turn.

"Her'll tell you, mayhap. But wait a bit; her's rare an' wroth this mornin', and I ain't sure as it's safe to be anigh her. Miss Blythe's been here this mornin'--Aunt Rachel, as the wench has allays called her, though her's no more than her mother's second cousin--and it seems as th' old creetur found out about Ruth's letter, and went and took it from wheer it was and marched it off. Her was here this mornin' t' ask me to open it and read it along with her. Theer's no tekin' note of her, Reuben, poor old ooman. Her's got a hive in her head. 'Do you know this young man's character' her says. 'Why, yis,' I says; 'it'd be odd if I didn't,' I says. 'Well,' her says, 'he's a villin.' 'Rubbidge,' says I; 'theer's no moor esteemable feller i' the parish,' I says, 'onless it's his uncle Ezra.' Then her fires up and her says, 'His uncle Ezra is a villin.' Then I bust out a-laughin' in her face. Her's flighty, you know, lad, her's uncommon flighty. Six-and-twenty year ago--it was afore thee couldst toddle--her left the parish because of Ezra."

"Because of my uncle?" There were so many things to be amazed at in this speech of Fuller's that the youngster hardly knew which to be surprised at most.

"Didst never hear o' that?" asked Fuller. "It's been the talk o' the parish ever sence her come back to live in it. Your uncle used to be a good deal at her mother's house from thirty to six-and-twenty 'ear ago, and used to tek his fiddle theer and gie 'em a taste o' music now and then. Her seems to ha' let it tek root in her poor head as he was squirin' her and mekin' up to her for marriage; but after four or five year her got tired and hopeless, I reckon, and went away. Then I expect her begun to brood a bit, after the mode of a woman as is lonely, and has got no such thing as a man around her, and that's how it is, lad."

"My uncle!" Reuben fell to pacing up and down the room, talking aloud, but as if he addressed himself rather than his sweetheart's father.

"Manzini was the last man whose works he played--the last man he ever handled bow and fiddle for. His own words. He left the book open when he went away, and closed it when he came back again." He drew the discolored note from his pocket, and stared at it with a look of tragic certainty.

"Be we all mad together?" said Fuller. "What's the matter with the lad, i' the name o' wonder?"

"I'll explain everything, sir," answered Reuben, like a man awakening from sleep. "And yet I don't know that I can. I don't know that I have a right to explain. I could ask Ruth's advice. It's hard to know what to do in such a case."

"Theer's no such thing as a straight wescut i' the house, worse luck,"

said Fuller. "Theer _is_ a clothesline, if that 'ud serve as well."

"May I see Miss Ruth, sir?" asked Reuben. "I'll tell you all about it if I can. But I think I have found out a very strange and mournful thing."