How Ethel was to take care of him she did not know; she could only keep a heedful eye on him, and rejoice when he took Tom out for a long walk—a companion certainly not likely to promote the working of the brain—but though it was in the opposite direction to Cocksmoor, Tom came home desperately cross, snubbed Gertrude, and fagged Aubrey; but, then, as Blanche observed, perhaps that was only because his trousers were splashed.
In her next solitary walk to Cocksmoor, Norman joined Ethel. She was gratified, but she could not think of one safe word worth saying to him, and for a mile they preserved an absolute silence, until he first began, “Ethel, I have been thinking—”
“That you have!” said she, between hope and dread, and the thrill of being again treated as his friend.
“I want to consult you. Don’t you think now that Richard is settled at home, and if Tom will study medicine, that I could be spared.”
“Spared!” exclaimed Ethel. “You are not much at home.”
“I meant more than my present absences. It is my earnest wish—” he paused, and the continuation took her by surprise. “Do you think it would give my father too much pain to part with me as a missionary to New Zealand?”
She could only gaze at him in mute amazement.
“Do you think he could bear it?” said Norman hastily.
“He would consent,” she replied. “Oh, Norman, it is the most glorious thing man can do! How I wish I could go with you.”
“Your mission is here,” said Norman affectionately.