Now and again he would be conscious of an inquisitive glance shot in his direction, and the little confusion that followed upon discovery was skillfully expressed.
A long two miles they rode together, by further way of the “Delsrop” road; and presently, skirting a sweep of park-land—in ordered contrast with Mr. Tukes’ domain—came in view of a lodge and gates of the most admired substantiality.
Here the gentleman would insist upon delivering up his charge, and returning the way he had come. No pretty remonstrances would avail to make him spoil the romance of the situation by so much as a yard of anti-climax.
“I am too happy in having been the means of help,” said he. “If you are beholden to me at all, a word of thanks from your brother would make me a debtor instead of a creditor.”
She smiled back delightfully.
“He shall come in person,” she said, “and bring you a receipt of my safe custody.”
She laughed and waved to him, and was gone up the drive.
He stood hat in hand until she had disappeared. Then he mounted and rode back, with a heart full of sun and merriment.
Indeed, it was like a sail to a castaway, this vision in his waste of days. To know that refined civilization was within a couple of miles or so of his gates, did more to reconcile him to his embowered lot, than any philosophy of nature. He felt friendless and isolated no longer; but rather inspired to a pursuit that should make of his thickets a garden of Hesperus.
In this mood of exaltation he reached his own door, rapped on it with the butt of his riding-whip, and, as it was swung open, encountered the figures of Whimple and his sister arrayed as if for a journey.