“I shall be all right,” Margery said, quietly. “I have many friends; Sir Hubert’s steward will find me another home till Lady Coningham comes back, and——”
“Yes; my mother has sent me here with a message to you, Margery,” Robert Bright said, quickly. “She wants you to come to her for a month or so.”
“She is very kind.”
“Wilt thou go, lass?” asked Reuben, gently.
Margery drew a quick breath.
“I cannot answer now,” she said; “to-morrow I will tell you, Mr. Robert.”
“Oh, there is no hurry,” Robert returned, heartily. “Mother will welcome you gladly whenever you come.”
“Wait till to-morrow, and she’ll be with you,” Reuben said, in the young man’s ear, as Margery turned indoors again; then he added, in a louder tone: “I must go up to the Weald for an hour, to see the men. Get thee some rest, lass.”
“I will stay here, if Margery will let me,” Robert Bright said, putting one foot on the doorstep, and glancing into the room.
Reuben had moved away down the path, and the sight of the girl’s pale, drawn face, and listless, drooping figure, stirred the heart of the young farmer. For weeks past he had grown to watch for this girl. Her rare beauty and daintiness were as something heavenly in his everyday life.