"That is your last word?"
"Yes; I say no more. Think it over, my dear fellow," and here he laid his hand affectionately on the shoulder of his friend; "you might see Mrs. Gordon. Women are instinctively clever and quick-witted in these affairs. Think it over," and with this injunction Mr. Eliot put his terai hat on his head, and hastily took his departure.
For some time after the Padre had left him, Major Gascoigne remained sitting in a chair, mentally benumbed. By-and-by he roused himself with an effort, and set all his wits to work upon the subject so brusquely brought to his knowledge. The more he reviewed the question, the less he liked it. He knew how a breath of gossip can tarnish a stainless name, whether at home or abroad; how no amount of rubbing will remove the speck of rust which eats it away. Poor Eliot, he was sorry he had raked up a dead memory. Eliot was too emotional, too sensitive about his flock, very easily frightened—and all parsons were match-makers. There must be some way out of the wood. He would change his clothes at once, swallow some breakfast, and ride over and talk the thing out with Mrs. Gordon. She was generally sewing or writing all the morning in the north verandah. Then he suddenly recalled the fact that his hostess had seemed a little grave and preoccupied the previous evening; that once or twice he had caught her gazing at him with a mysterious expression—that once or twice she had been about to say something to him during the morning ride, and paused; and that she had given him an unusually pressing invitation to "come over soon—and tell her all the news."
Major Gascoigne was perfectly correct in his surmise. As he walked up to the north verandah, Mrs. Gordon rose, and held out her hand; in the other were several letters.
"Do come and sit down," she said. "You are the very person I was thinking about, and particularly wish to see." As she concluded she held up a letter, and said: "This is all about you."
"Then it is bound to be stupid," he rejoined, heaving a dog out of a chair, and taking its place. "I've come over to have a talk with you—great wits, you see, jump together; but, bar all jokes, I shall be glad if your wit will clear up a puzzle for me."
Mrs. Gordon looked at him inquiringly, and faintly coloured as she said:
"You have had a visit from Mr. Eliot, good, brave man."
"Good, yes; but there was no particular question of courage," said Major Gascoigne, rather sharply. "Did you fear I would knock him down, or shoot him?" and his tone was sarcastic.