“No, I have not, Mr. Tabor, and I have come to you, as I have come before, when I am bothered, and want to do the right thing. I will tell you straight. Yesterday—last night—I made up my mind to go home, and never come out here again; but, after that I met Miss Bell, and she said she would be sorry if I went home—and—and—”
“I see it all,” gently interrupted Tabor, “and I have seen it all for some time. But before any more is said, I’ll tell you what is right—to go and talk to the squire—I know that you have not said anything to him—and Mrs. Bell, and then, if you like, you can come to me; but I will not be the first to interfere in these affairs.”
“But I do not know what to say to them. I daren’t say it, Mr. Tabor; that’s why I have come to you.”
“Mat, you are not a nervous man; go!” And with gentle force Tabor pushed him out of the door.
Our forester knew, at all events, that he had received good advice, and he acted upon it there and then. Knocking at the door of Bell’s study-smoking-room, a cheery voice bade him enter, and he found the squire at his accounts.
“Just in good time, Mat,” he said, looking up for an instant, “to go through the ‘muster’ book. Here, partner, sit down,” he added, with a laugh, “roll up your sleeves, light a pipe, and to work.”
“Squire, I’ll smoke afterwards, but I want to talk seriously first.”
“What’s up now, Mat. Drive on. Must be very bad, you look so solemn.”
“And ’tis very bad, Squire; and I feel very bad about it. I’m—I’m in love with your daughter, and I can’t help it. There, it’s out!”
“Mat, you surprise me,” said Bell, turning round in his chair; “but say on.”