Celia rose from her chair as her brother spoke, and walked slowly out of the room her eyes brimming over with tears, her bosom heaving with sobs. Eric regarded Sir Jasper gloomily. The old man looked perturbed and was regretting the words which had been the cause of the late stormy scene. He trembled with agitation as, leaning heavily on his stick, he crossed the room to the window, where he stood gazing out upon the newly-washed face of the landscape, conscious that Eric's eyes were watching his movements. He could not but admire the boy for taking his sister's part; but was annoyed at the defiant tone in which he had addressed him. Had not Eric said it was a shame that he should have spoken to Joy as he had done? He thought the boy owed him an apology; but apparently no idea of offering him one crossed Eric's mind, for he lingered in the room but a short while longer; then went into the hall, and putting on his cap, started to meet his mother, who by that time, he considered, would most likely be on her way home.
[CHAPTER XII.]
AFTER THE STORM.
ERIC had not gone far beyond the grounds of the Moat House when he encountered Mr. Cole, the Vicar of Crumleigh, who drew up, and addressed him with a smiling: "Good evening."
"Good evening," Eric responded. He recognised the Vicar, having seen him at church on the preceding Sunday, when he had been favourably impressed by his kindly, open countenance, and general appearance of manliness. "Isn't it jolly after the storm? You were in shelter?"
"Yes, fortunately. I found refuge in a labourers' cottage. I was bound for the Moat House when the storm overtook me. We are well met, for it was you I wanted to see."
"Really?" Eric cried in surprise, a pleased and flattered expression crossing his face. "Then, you know who I am?"
"You are Eric Wallis, if I mistake not?"
"Yes. And you are Mr. Cole, the Vicar of Crumleigh."
"Having made ourselves known to each other, suppose we shake hands," the Vicar suggested with a smile.