"I am sorry for that," said he. "It was far from my intentions—very far from my thoughts."
He said no more, neither did I. Perhaps, to tell the truth, I was half sorry for what I had said, half ashamed of even feeling my inferiority, more than half ashamed of having confessed it to any one. Ashamed, sorry—and yet—
Mother called us to go in-doors.
"If your father asks me to remain, I will remain, and do my best," said Trayton Harrod, as we walked slowly up the lawn.
And the glow that was upon my heart deepened. It was a concession, and wherefore was it made?
CHAPTER XXI.
For two days not a word was spoken on the sore subject between father and Mr. Harrod, and on the evening of the second day the squire returned from town.
Father and I had gone down on the morning after the quarrel to see the sheep-shearing at the lower farm. By a corruption of the name of a former owner the country-folk had come to call it "Pharisee Farm," and Pharisee Farm it always was. It lay on the lower strip of marsh towards the castle, with the southern sun full upon it. As we came down the hill I heard steps behind us, and without turning I knew that Trayton Harrod was following us. Father gave him good-day quite civilly, and I held out my hand. I do not know why I had got into the habit of giving my hand to Trayton Harrod; it was not a usual habit with me.
"It has turned a bit cooler, Mr. Maliphant, hasn't it?" said Harrod.