“Do let me go, Mr. Harper; I don't want to dismount, indeed.”
“But I have something to say to you—just a few words. We must decide to-day about the house, you know.”
“Never mind the house; I had rather not think about it.” And the mere shadow of past vexation still vexed her. “Ah!” she added, entreatingly, “do be good to me—do let me enjoy myself for once!”
“I would not prevent you for the world.” He dropped her bridle with a sigh, and turned back among his little nephews.
Fred had coaxed the horse from the groom, and Gus was bent on mounting; there was a dreadful struggle, and angry cries for Uncle Nathanael. In the midst of it Uncle Nathanael appeared, like an angel of peace, and setting the boys one behind another on his horse's back, led the animal up and down carefully.
Agatha looked after them, thinking how kind and good her husband was. She wished she had not refused so hastily such a simple request; she began to think herself a wretch for ever contradicting him in anything.
The little party started again, increased by the arrival of the family carriage from Kingcombe Holm, wherein sat Mary and Eulalie. To these were speedily added the three young Dugdales, all in high glee. And it spoke well for the Miss Harpers, whom Agatha was disposed to like least of her husband's relatives, that they made very lenient and kindly aunts to those obstreperous boys.
Agatha was crossing the bridge which bounded South Street, trying to make her horse stand still while Mr. Dugdale pointed out the identical red cliff where the Danes drew up their ships, and laughing with Harrie at the notion of how terribly frightened the quiet souls in Kingcombe would be at such an incursion now, when Nathanael came on foot to his wife's side.
“Why did you start without speaking to me?”
“I could not help it; I thought you were gone. You will come after us soon?” And she felt angry with herself for having momentarily forgotten him.