Mr. Freyne a little nervously replied that he had acted as he thought best and Lancelot hurriedly asked for the car.
Without a word Gheena went out, out into the opal-tinted evening to the yards.
"Oh, Dearest, do you think it was wise?" said Mrs. Freyne tearfully.
Mr. Freyne said testily, "Lancelot will now represent independence, and she has left the door open."
There were open doors in the yard, many of them—fresh yellow straw ready for feet which could never trample on it, Phil, sitting on the pump trough, weeping unashamed. There were no eager eyes and solemnizing heads thrust out, no muzzles ready to nose for carrots.
Quite quietly Gheena went from box to box, Phil tramping after her, entreating her not to be fretting.
"When it is your own, Miss Gheena, you can have horses in the coal sheds—above in the farmyard, when it is ye're own."
Four years, nearly five, and the pets she had seen grow up were gone. Crabbit, deeply dejected, wailed at her heels. Four years ... they seemed as eternity.
If she married Lancelot it would be her own, or if she married anyone she could have her horses.
"An' I clane forgot that Mr. Darby sent two notes,"—Phil produced a letter—-"to be givin' immaydiate; but when I seen the horses go——" Phil wept afresh.