"And so am I," said Mrs Mallow, fondly. "Where is Cyril? Ask him to come to us now."

"I--I don't know," said the Rector, hesitatingly. "I did look round, but not seeing him, I thought he would be here."

"He did not know. You did not tell him," said Mrs Mallow.

"That Sage would be here? Oh, no. I left him to find that out," said the Rector, playfully. "But I am not sorry, my dear, for I feel as if we ought to monopolise some one's attentions ourselves to-day. The next time she comes we shall be set aside, being only the old folks."

He smiled at Sage, and in a timid way she smiled back at him; but the same thought was in both their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and each tried to read it through the other's eyes.

The thought was of Luke Ross, which was agitating them both, for they were thinking of the day when they would have to face him, and give account of that which had been done; and as this dark shadow loomed up in the distance, the question arose--

What shall I say?

Cyril did not put in an appearance that day, and Mr and Mrs Mallow had their visitor entirely to themselves, with the result that when it was time for her to go, all thoughts of pride and differences in caste were gone, Mrs Mallow kissing her very affectionately.

"I can't come to you, my dear; but you will come to me often--very often--promise me that."

The answer trembled upon Sage's lips. It was "Yes," but she hardly dared to utter it, and it was taken from her.

"I will say it," said the Rector. "Yes; she will come very often.

Sage, my child, I never thought of this, but the future is hidden from all our eyes. You have been here to-day to see us in the character of the woman our son has chosen for his wife. Heaven's blessing be on you, my child; he could not have made a worthier choice."

Sage placed her hands in his, and once more he drew her to his breast, and kissed her broad white forehead.

"There," he said cheerily, and with a smile, "kiss mamma, and then I'll trot down home with you, for it is too dark for you to go alone. I think, mamma, dear, we'll set aside all form and ceremony from now.

What do you say?"

"Oh yes, yes. Let there be no scruples to keep you away, my dear. Of course," she added, smiling, "you will come to see this poor invalid.

Come and read to me as often as you can, for my daughters are beginning to forsake me a great deal now. Ah! you young people, you get strange fancies in your heads. You promise?"

She promised, and soon after the Rector was taking her home, chatting to her pleasantly, as if there was to be no more constraint; but all the same he could not help thinking about him who filled his companion's thoughts, to the exclusion of Cyril.

How was Luke Ross to be met?

And at the same time, the fond mother, lying upon her couch, had her shadows to darken the happy thoughts that were brightening her life.

Was it just to Sage Portlock to let her become the wife of such a son as hers?

She trembled and grew agitated at the thoughts, which were cleared away as Cyril suddenly entered the room.

"Here, I say," he cried, "what does this mean?"

"What does what mean?" said Mrs Mallow, smiling affectionately.

"They say down-stairs that Sage--Miss Portlock--has been here."

"Yes, my son, and she has just gone back with your father. Come and sit down by me, Cyril."

If her words were heard, they were not attended to, for Cyril darted down the stairs and out of the house, leaving Mrs Mallow to sigh, and, as a despondent fit came on, to wonder whether they had done right after all.

PART ONE, CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

AT THE TURNING.

Cyril had his run for nothing more than to accompany his father, whom he met returning home. But the Rector was in a most genial frame of mind, and father and son came back to the rectory in the highest of spirits, Cyril bounding up to his mother's room without a trace of illness left.

"Take the post? That I will, and we'll forget all about the past," he cried. "I am glad you like her. She's the dearest and best of girls, and I love her. There, I'm not ashamed to say so. I do love her dearly, and ten times more for her nice, modest, retiring ways. Father, I'm going to settle down with the best of wives, and--oh, hang it all, I wish I'd known you were going to bring her here. I say, what a good old fellow you are!"

And plenty more in the same strain, so that as the question was discussed the hours flew by, and Mrs Mallow, weary though she felt with extra exertion, felt that happy days were coming once again, and she went at last to her pillow to dream of the girl who was to bring peace to her home, and restore her errant boy, bringing him from a reckless, careless life to one that was to do honour to them all.

"Quite well, thank you!" said Cyril to himself, as he leaped out of bed the next morning, and, after dressing, lit a cigar for what he called a matutinal whiff, but really under the impression that he could think better under its influence.

For there was a good deal to be thought about that day, and a good deal to be done.

"I shall have to talk pretty seriously to Master Frank," he said.

"There must be no nonsense if Sage is to be my wife. Let's see if he is up. No, I'll leave it for the present; I don't want him to turn nasty if I can help it."

He knew, from the previous night's conversation, that the Churchwarden had made no further objection to his suit, and, under the circ.u.mstances, he felt that the proper course would be for him to go straight over to Kilby Farm, and in a frank, manly way thank him, and talk to him of the future.

"Hang it all, though," he cried, pettishly, "I hate the very idea. It makes a fellow seem such a fool. _Ask papa_! Hang papa. I don't think I shall go."

He went down to breakfast, and when it was over the Rector said--

"By the way, Cyril, I think I'd walk over and see Mr Portlock. He would like the attention, and it is your duty to pay him all respect."

"Oh, yes; of course, father," he said, impatiently.

"But don't go down to the school, Cyril," said the Rector, rather anxiously.

"Oh, no; of course not," said the son.

"We need not mind what people say, but it is as well not to give them cause for chattering. There is nothing to be ashamed of, but while Sage has the school we'll let matters go on as usual."

"But she must not stay there, father."

"Certainly not, Cyril. I'll chat the matter over with Portlock, and see about a fresh mistress as soon as possible."

"That's right," said Cyril; and before, his father could say more he was gone.

"Get a new mistress--get a new master," muttered the Rector, tapping the table with his well-pared finger-nails. "Why, it is near the time when Luke Ross will be back. Tut--tut--tut! It is a most unfortunate affair."

It was so near the time that Luke Ross was already on his way to the London terminus, and a few more hours would see him at Lawford.

"Well, well, I've nothing to do with that," said the Rector, impatiently. "Sage and he must settle the matter between them. She evidently never cared for him, and--tut--tut--tut! Well, there, I've done all for the best."

He went off to solace himself with a look at his flowers, and tried to forget what entanglements might ensue; while Cyril, with his hands in his pockets, smoked cigar after cigar, as he fidgeted about in his own room, trying to screw his courage up to the proper point for a visit to Kilby Farm, for, truth to tell, the nearer the necessity for an interview with the Churchwarden, the less he felt disposed to undertake the task.