“Well, my child,” he said, stroking her hair, “yonder is a pleasant-spoken man, but I can never sign that paper he brought. We will talk no more of it, the very thought of it chafes me. Sing me one of your songs, dear, let us have ‘Come, sweet love, let sorrow cease!”
Hilary winced, for the plaintive sweetness of “Bara Fostus Dream” was for ever associated with the summer days when Gabriel had wooed her; but she could not refuse her uncle’s request, and sang the song in a more subdued frame of mind.
She had just begun the last verse—
“Then, sweet love, disperse this cloud—”
when sounds of confusion in the village street and an uproar of voices brought her to a sudden pause. Running to the window, she called eagerly to the Vicar.
“See, Uncle, the people are thronging this way. What can have happened?”
And as the Vicar joined her and looked forth, Durdle and Zachary rushed without ceremony into the room, breathless with haste, but each eager to give the news.
“Oh, sir, come out and stop it, for pity’s sake,” panted Durdle.
“Yes, sir, do’ee now. Mayhap they’ll hearken to you,” said Zachary.
“What is wrong?” asked the Vicar, looking from one to the other.