He advanced to the table, against which I had been leaning all this time, and said, in a very grateful sort of way, "So you really made this jelly for me, and came all the way across here on purpose to bring it to me?"
I looked at him, astonished. One would have thought making jelly was dreadfully hard work, and the distance from the Grange to the Manor at least five miles instead of not one.
"Oh dear, no," said I. "I didn't make it. Mother made it; I only helped her strain it. And I didn't come here on purpose to bring it."
It was the squire's turn to look at me, astonished. "No, I came to ask you something," continued I, hurriedly, rushing violently upon my subject. "Do you remember once—in the summer—Mr. Broderick, you told me that if ever I was in any trouble, that if ever I wanted help, I was to come to you?"
"Yes, I remember it very well," answered he. "I meant what I said."
"I knew you did," said I. "That's why I've come." He came close up to me.
"Thank you," he said, and at the time it did not strike me that it was strange he should say "thank you." "I'm glad you have come. So you are in trouble up at the Grange! Ah, I was afraid, I was sorely afraid it was coming! Come and sit down and tell me all about it."
He took hold of my hand and led me towards the oaken settle. We had not sat down before; I don't think either of us had supposed that I was going to remain more than a minute.
"It's about Joyce," I said.
He started, but he did not look distressed, rather more surprised. "I'm dreadfully unhappy about Joyce," I repeated.