“Am I to understand you intend calling
on the Wylders?” she said.
“I have imperative reasons for calling upon
them this very morning,” answered Richard.
“I am sorry you should so immediately show your
antagonism!” said lady Ann.
“My obligations to Miss Wylder are such that
I must see her the first possible moment.”
“Have you asked your father’s permission?”
“I have not,” answered Richard, and left
the room hurriedly.
The next moment he was out of the house: lady
Ann might go to his father, and he would gladly avoid
the necessity of disobeying him the first morning
after his return! He did not know how small was
her influence with her husband.
He took the path across the fields, and ran until
he was out of sight of
Mortgrange.
HEART TO HEART.
When he came to the parsonage, which he had to pass
on his way to the Hall, he saw Mr. Wingfold through
the open window of the drawing-room, and turned to
the door. The parson met him on the threshold.
“Welcome!” he said. “How did
you get through your dinner?”
“Better than I expected,” replied Richard.
“But this morning my stepmother began feeling
my mouth: she would have me promise not to call
on the Wylders. They had been rude to her, she
said.”
“Come into the drawing-room. A friend of
mine is there who will be glad to see you.”
The drawing-room of the parsonage was low and dark,
with its two windows close together on the same side.
At the farther end stood a lady, seemingly occupied
with an engraving on the wall. She did not move
when they entered. Wingfold led Richard up to
her, then turned without a word, and left the room.
Before either knew, they were each in the other’s
arms.
Barbara was sobbing. Richard thought he had dared
too much and had frightened her.
“I couldn’t help it!” Barbara said
pleadingly.
“My life has been a longing for you!”
said Richard.
“I have wanted you every day!” said Barbara,
and began again to sob, but recovered herself with
an effort.
“This will never do!” she cried, laughing
through her tears. “I shall go crazy with
having you! And I’ve not seen you yet!
Let me go, please. I want to look at you!”
Richard released her. She lifted a blushing,
tearful face to his. But there was only joy,
no pain in her tears; only delight, no shame in her
blushes. One glance at the simple, manly face
before her, so full of the trust that induces trust,
would have satisfied any true woman that she was as
safe in his thoughts as in those of her mother.
She gazed at him one long silent moment.
“How splendid you are!” she cried, like
a wild schoolgirl. “How good of you to
grow like that! I wish I could see you on Miss
Brown!—What are you going to do, Richard?”
