“Oh, when you see her, one simple word will do: Fanny Wyndham loves plain dealing. Merely tell her that Lord Ballindine has not changed his mind; and that he wishes to know from herself, by the mouth of a friend whom he can trust, whether she has changed hers. If she tells you that she has, I would not follow her farther though she were twice as rich as Croesus. I’m not hunting her for her money; but I am determined that Lord Cashel shall not make us both miserable by forcing her into a marriage with his roué of a son.”
“Well, Ballindine, I’ll go; but mind, you must not blame me if I fail. I’ll do the best I can for you.”
“Of course I won’t. When will you be able to start?”
“Why, I suppose there’s no immediate hurry?” said the parson, remembering that the new suit of clothes must be procured.
“Oh, but there is. Kilcullen will be there at once; and considering how long it is since I saw Fanny—three months, I believe—no time should be lost.”
“How long is her brother dead?”
“Oh, a month—or very near it.”
“Well, I’ll go Monday fortnight; that’ll do, won’t it?”
It was at last agreed that the parson was to start for Grey Abbey on the Monday week following; that he was to mention to no one where he was going; that he was to tell his wife that he was going on business he was not allowed to talk about;—she would be a very meek woman if she rested satisfied with that!—and that he was to present himself at Grey Abbey on the following Wednesday.
“And now,” said the parson, with some little hesitation, “my difficulty commences. We country rectors are never rich; but when we’ve nine children, Ballindine, it’s rare to find us with money in our pockets. You must advance me a little cash for the emergencies of the road.”