“My dear,” she said at last, when Agatha paused for a response to her own enthusiasm, “Man proposes—God disposes! Go and talk over these things with your husband first.” Agatha went.
She met Nathanael on the staircase, going up to their own room.
“Ah; is it you? I am so glad. Come and tell me what has been done about the poor miner.”
“He is gone. I have sent him back to Cornwall.”
“What, so soon? Not to starve at that Wheal—Wheal something or other—I always forget the name?”
“Do forget it. Don't let the matter trouble my little wife. Let her run down-stairs and think of something else.”
He patted her head with assumed carelessness, and was passing her by; but she stopped him.
“Ah! there it is—I am always to be a child! I am to run down-stairs and think of something else, while you go and shut yourself up to ponder over this affair. But I will not be shut out; I will go with you;—come!”
In playful force she drew him to their room, and closed the door.
“Now, sit down, and tell me the whole story. Why, how grave and pale it has made you look! But never mind; we'll find out a plan to help the poor people.”