It was a very gently put question, but put with eyes and lips as well as the sweet voice, dainty in its half timidity mixed with the sweetness. Mr. Linden looked down at her till the question was finished, but then he looked off at the dancing water; the smile which had been dawning upon his lips breaking out into very full sunshine. It was a strange smile--very enjoying and yet a little moved.

"Mignonette," he said looking down at her again, "do you know what a dear little child you are?"

Her eyes wavered, then faced him again with a sort of smiling gravity, as not relinquishing their answer.

"You will be dreadfully shocked if I tell you."

"Shall I?"--she said, not believing him.

"Yes. But what do you suppose I am doing?--what has put all this into your head?"

"I heard it," said Faith.

"From whom?"

"I don't know. But somebody that wondered what you were doing it for."

"Most enigmatical information! What 'it' did somebody say I was doing?"

"Working hard--giving lessons," said Faith dropping her voice.

"Well--what else was I doing when I was here? _That_ should not shock you, dear child."

"You were _not_ doing anything else when you were here--that is the very thing, Endecott."

"Mignonette--I have done nothing to hurt myself, as you may see. I am very strong to work."

She gave a little grave glance at him, grave with a background of regretfulness, and placed herself back in her former position; pushing her questions no further. But Mr. Linden did not look grave.

"I am quite willing to tell you all about my work," he said,--"that I did not long ago was for two or three reasons which you will understand. I told you once, dear Faith--upon a night which I shall never forget--that I had means enough to carry me through my studies; but two things made me take measures to earn a good deal more. One was, that I would always rather work than not to have what I want to spend in various good and pleasant ways."

"Yes--?" she said a little eagerly. He looked at her with that same smile coming over his face.

"It will shock you," he said,--"however--The other reason was this. We agreed how I should choose between two gardens wherein to place my Mignonette. But it may chance that for even the offer of one I shall have to wait--and for Mignonette I cannot. Voyez-vous, Mademoiselle?"

Yes, plainly enough; as he could tell by the bright flush which mounted up to her forehead and made her a Rhodora again. And doubtless Faith would have said several things, only--she could _not!_ and so sat like the stillest of scared mice; with no more words at command. Mr. Linden laughed telling her he thought there was no hope of benefitting her cheeks any further that day, and that to judge by her eyelids sleep would be the next thing; and so turned the little carriage round and Jerry's head towards home.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Dinner was ready when they reached home, so that Faith was taken at once to the table; and when dinner was over, up stairs to go to sleep.

And sleep held her well nigh all the afternoon. The sunbeams were long, the light of day was growing gentle, when Faith at last awoke and arose, with a tinge in her cheeks and a face getting to be itself again. She put her hair and her dress in fresh order, and went softly about doing the same office for several things in the room; thinking all the while what Mr. Linden had been working for, and how shut her mouth was from saying anything about it.

"Where is Mr. Linden, mother?"

"Down stairs."

"I am going down too. I am quite well enough without being carried.

Come, mother."

"He won't like it, child,--you'd better let me call him."

"No indeed," said Faith. "I'll just take your arm, mother. It will do me good."

So softly and with a little wilful pleasure on Faith's part, the stairs were descended; and not content with that, Faith went into the tea-room and began as of old to give a delicate hand to the tea-table arrangements. Then when all was done, slowly made her entrance into the other room. But there, to Faith's dismay, were two gentlemen instead of one, standing in the middle of the floor in earnest conversation. Both turned the minute she opened the door, and Squire Stoutenburgh came towards her, exclaiming, "Why Miss Faith!--n.o.body gave me any hope of seeing you. My dear, are you as well as you look?"

Faith's instant extreme desire was to quit the field she had so rashly ventured upon. Her answer to Mr. Stoutenburgh, if made, was too unintelligible to be understood or remembered; and meanwhile she was as the Squire had hinted, looking very well, and a picture of dainty confusion. It might not help the confusion, though it did put her face more out of sight, to be rescued from the Squire's hands and placed in the easy-chair.

"No, she is not as well as she looks, Mr. Stoutenburgh, and therefore you must not keep her standing."

"I won't keep her--nor you neither--long," said the Squire. "Miss Faith, I hope you'll keep _him_--standing or kneeling or something--all summer. How long are you going to stay, sure enough?"

"Till I must go." Faith heard the smile with which it was spoken.

"Then I shall go home a happy man!" said Mr. Stoutenburgh, with a sort of earnest heartiness which became him very well. "My dear, I'm as glad as if you were my own daughter--and you'll let me say that, because your father and I were such friends." With which original and sincere expression of feeling the Squire went off.

"You naughty child," Mr. Linden said, coming back to Faith's chair, "who gave you leave to come down stairs? I shouldn't be at all surprised if you had been after cream."

"No I haven't, Endy,"--said Faith lifting up her face which was in a sort of overwhelmed state.

"What is the matter?" he said smiling.

"Don't mind me," said Faith pa.s.sing her hands over her face. "I am half ashamed of myself--I shall be better in a day or two."

"How do you feel, after your ride and your sleep?"

"O well!--nicely,"--she said in happy accents.

"What made you try to walk down stairs?"

"I thought I could do it."

"And knew I would not let you. Will you be in a talking mood after tea?"

"I am now. I have been wanting to talk to you, Endecott, ever since you got home."

"What about?"

"About these weeks."

The summons to tea came then, however; but when tea was disposed of, and Faith had come back to her sofa in the sitting-room, Mr. Linden took his place at her side.

"Now I am ready for 'these weeks,'" he said.

Faith was less ready than he, though she had wished for the talk. Her face darkened to something of the weary look with which he had found her.