“Marry her, I should say!”
“As a cure for the complaint, I suppose. But what if she will not have him? What if she declares that she 'd like to go back to the convent again,—that she hates the world, and is sorry she ever came out into it,—that she was happier with the sisters—”
“Has she said all this to you, sister?”
“Certainly not, Peter,” said Dinah, bridling up. “These were confidences imparted to the young man himself. It was he told me of them: he came to me last night in a state bordering on distraction. He was hesitating whether he would not throw himself into the river or go into a marching regiment.”
“This is only a laughing matter, then, Dinah?” said Peter, smiling.
“Nothing of the kind, brother! He did not put the alternatives so much in juxtaposition as I have; but they lay certainly in that manner on his thoughts. But when do your friends arrive? I thought they were to have come with you?”
“What a head I have, Dinah! They are all here; two carriages of them. I left them on the road when I rushed on to meet you. Oh, here they come! here they are!”
“My brother's good fortune, gentlemen, has made him seem to forget what adversity never did; but I believe you all know how welcome you are here? Your son, General Conyers, thought to meet you earlier, by taking boat down to the village, and the girls went with him. Your friend, Polly Dill, is one of them, General Hunter.”
Having thus, with one sweep of the scythe, cut down a little of all around her, she led the way towards the cottage, accepting the arm of General Conyers with an antiquated grace that sorely tried Hunter's good manners not to smile at.
“I know what you are looking at, what you are thinking of, Barrington,” said Withering, as he saw the other stand a moment gazing at the landscape on the opposite side of the river.