“I am a stranger.”
“Shall I introduce you? I told you that I knew the old couple.”
“Oh, no, sir! I would rather meet them alone.”
“Go; and—wait a bit-hark ye, young man, Mrs. Avenel is a cold-mannered woman; but don’t be abashed by that.” Leonard thanked the good-natured stranger, crossed the field, passed the gap, and paused a moment under the stinted shade of the old hollow-hearted oak. The ravens were returning to their nests. At the sight of a human form under the tree they wheeled round and watched him afar. From the thick of the boughs, the young ravens sent their hoarse low cry.
CHAPTER XXV.
The young man entered the neat, prim, formal parlour. “You are welcome!” said Mrs. Avenel, in a firm voice. “The gentleman is heartily welcome,” cried poor John.
“It is your grandson, Leonard Fairfield,” said Mrs. Avenel. But John, who had risen with knocking knees, gazed hard at Leonard, and then fell on his breast, sobbing aloud, “Nora’s eyes!—he has a blink in his eye like Nora’s.”
Mrs. Avenel approached with a steady step, and drew away the old man tenderly.
“He is a poor creature,” she whispered to Leonard; “you excite him. Come away, I will show you your room.” Leonard followed her up the stairs, and came into a room neatly and even prettily furnished. The carpet and curtains were faded by the sun, and of old-fashioned pattern; there was a look about the room as if it had been long disused. Mrs. Avenel sank down on the first chair on entering. Leonard drew his arm round her waist affectionately: “I fear that I have put you out sadly, my dear grandmother.” Mrs. Avenel glided hastily from his arm, and her countenance worked much, every nerve in it twitching, as it were; then, placing her hand on his locks, she said with passion, “God bless you, my grandson,” and left the room.