“I hope you may be very happy, with—I
mean in your new life,” she whispered very softly;
“as happy as you deserve to be, and as happy
as you can make others be. Now how I have been
neglecting you! I am quite ashamed of myself
for thinking only of grandfather: and it makes
me so low-spirited. You have told me a very nice
romance, and I have never even helped you to a glass
of wine. Here, pour it for yourself, dear cousin;
I shall be back again directly.”
With that she was out of the door in a moment; and
when she came back, you would not have thought that
a tear had dimmed those large bright eyes, or wandered
down those pale clear cheeks. Only her hands were
cold and trembling: and she made me help myself.
Uncle Reuben did not appear at all; and Ruth, who
had promised to come and see us, and stay for a fortnight
at our house (if her grandfather could spare her),
now discovered, before I left, that she must not think
of doing so. Perhaps she was right in deciding
thus; at any rate it had now become improper for me
to press her. And yet I now desired tenfold that
she should consent to come, thinking that Lorna herself
would work the speediest cure of her passing whim.
For such, I tried to persuade myself, was the nature
of Ruth’s regard for me: and upon looking
back I could not charge myself with any misconduct
towards the little maiden. I had never sought
her company, I had never trifled with her (at least
until that very day), and being so engrossed with
my own love, I had scarcely ever thought of her.
And the maiden would never have thought of me, except
as a clumsy yokel, but for my mother’s and sister’s
meddling, and their wily suggestions. I believe
they had told the little soul that I was deeply in
love with her; although they both stoutly denied it.
But who can place trust in a woman’s word, when
it comes to a question of match-making?
[Illustration: 454.jpg Tailpiece]
A VISIT FROM THE COUNSELLOR
[Illustration: 455.jpg Counsellor]
Now while I was riding home that evening, with a tender
conscience about Ruth, although not a wounded one,
I guessed but little that all my thoughts were needed
much for my own affairs. So however it proved
to be; for as I came in, soon after dark, my sister
Eliza met me at the corner of the cheese-room, and
she said, “Don’t go in there, John,”
pointing to mother’s room; “until I have
had a talk with you.”
“In the name of Moses,” I inquired, having
picked up that phrase at Dulverton; “what are
you at about me now? There is no peace for a quiet
fellow.”
“It is nothing we are at,” she answered;
“neither may you make light of it. It is
something very important about Mistress Lorna Doone.”
“Let us have it at once,” I cried; “I
can bear anything about Lorna, except that she does
not care for me.”
