"Oh, she's wise for her years!" said Drake. "Yes, I'll have a glass of your home-brewed, Styles."
Mrs. Styles brought some milk and scones for Nell, and the two women withdrew to the settle and talked like old friends, while Drake, his eyes and attention straying to his beloved, discussed the burglary at the Hall with Styles. As Mrs. Styles' topic of conversation was Drake—Drake as a lad and a young man—Nell was in no hurry to go; but suddenly she remembered Falconer—he might be wanting her—and she got up and went to Drake, who, his beloved brier in his mouth, leaned back in an easy-chair and talked to the farmer as if time were of no consequence. He sprang up as she approached him.
"Well, good-by, Styles. I said you should dance at my wedding, and so you shall," he said.
"Thank you, my lord," he responded. "I'll do my best, but I thought your lordship was only joking. Here's a very good health to you, my lord, and your future lady."
"And God bless ye both," said Mrs. Styles, in the background.
They drove away in grand style, the mare insisting on putting on frills and standing on her hind legs; and Drake, when the mare had settled down to her swinging trot, stole his hand round Nell's waist, and pressed her to him.
"Do you know why I took you there this morning, Nell?" he said, in a low voice.
Nell shook her head shyly.
"I'll tell you. The sudden good fortune has seemed so unreal to me that I haven't been able to realize it, to grasp it. It wasn't enough for the countess to know and congratulate us—it wasn't enough, somehow. I wanted some of the people on the estate to see you, and, so to speak, set their seal on our engagement and approaching marriage. Do you understand, dearest? I'm not making it very plain, I'm afraid."
But Nell understood, and her heart was brimming over with love for him.