“You must not keep the chaise waiting,—the gentleman is very punctual.”
“But he is not come.”
“No; he has walked on before, and will get in after you are out of the town.”
“What is his name, and why should he care for me, Grandmother?”
“He will tell you himself. Be quick.”
“But you will bless me again, Grandmother? I love you already.”
“I do bless you,” said Mrs. Avenel, firmly. “Be honest and good, and beware of the first false step.” She pressed his hand with a convulsive grasp, and led him to the outer door.
The postboy clanked his whip, the chaise rattled off. Leonard put his head out of the window to catch a last glimpse of the old woman; but the boughs of the pollard-oak, and its gnarled decaying trunk, hid her from his eye, and look as he would, till the road turned, he saw but the melancholy tree.