My father, with the bloom of success on his face, led me aside soon after a safe majority of upwards of seventy had been officially announced.  ‘Now, Richie,’ said he, ’you are a Member.  Now to the squire away!  Thank the multitude and off, and as quick to Sarkeld as you well can, and tell the squire from me that I pardon his suspicions.  I have landed you a Member—­that will satisfy him.  I am willing, tell him . . . you know me competent to direct mines . . . bailiff of his estates—­ whatever he pleases, to effect a reconciliation.  I must be in London to-night—­I am in the thick of the fray there.  No matter:  go, my son.’  He embraced me.  It was not a moment for me to catechize him, though I could see that he was utterly deluded.

Between moonlight and morning, riding with Temple and Captain Bulsted on either side of me, I drew rein under the red Grange windows, tired, and in love with its air of sleepy grandeur.  Janet’s window was open.  I hailed her.  ‘Has he won?’ she sang out in the dark of her room, as though the cry of delight came upon the leap from bed.  She was dressed.  She had commissioned Farmer Eckerthy to bring her the news at any hour of the night.  Seeing me, she clapped hands.  ’Harry, I congratulate you a thousand times.’  She had wit to guess that I should never have thought of coming had I not been the winner.  I could just discern the curve and roll of her famed thick brown hair in the happy shrug of her shoulder, and imagined the full stream of it as she leaned out of window to talk to us.

Janet herself, unfastened the hall-door bolts.  She caressed the horses, feverishly exulting, with charming subdued laughter of victory and welcome, and amused us by leading my horse round to stables, and whistling for one of the lads, playing what may, now and then, be a pretty feature in a young woman of character—­the fair tom-boy girl.  She and her maid prepared coffee and toast for us, and entered the hall, one after the other, laden with dishes of cold meat; and not until the captain had eaten well did she tell him slyly that somebody, whom she had brought to Riversley yesterday, was abed and asleep upstairs.  The slyness and its sisterly innocence lit up our eyes, and our hearts laughed.  Her cheeks were deliciously overcoloured.  We stole I know not what from the night and the day, and conventional circumstances, and rallied Captain Bulsted, and behaved as decorous people who treat the night properly, and live by rule, do not quite do.  Never since Janet was a girl had I seen her so spirited and responsive:  the womanly armour of half-reserve was put away.  We chatted with a fresh-hearted natural young creature who forfeited not a particle of her ladyship while she made herself our comrade in talk and frolic.

Janet and I walked part of the way to the station with Temple, who had to catch an early train, and returning—­the song of skylarks covering us—­ joined hands, having our choice between nothing to say, and the excess; perilous both.