“Well, well! Be it so, if you will. Make thee ready, then, child, to go with thine aunt. Doth Grena know your desire, Frank?”
“Grena and I have taken counsel,” replied Mrs Collenwood, “and this is her avisement no less than mine.”
“Settle it so, then. I thank you, Frank, for your care for the maid. When shall she return?”
“It were better to leave that for time to come. But, Thomas, I go about to ask a favour of you more.”
“Go to! what is it?”
“That you will not name to any man Pandora’s journey with me. Not to any man,” repeated Mrs Collenwood, with a stress on the last two words.
Mr Roberts looked at her. Her eyes conveyed serious warning. He knew as well as if she had shouted the words in his ears that the real translation of her request was, “Do not tell the priest.” But it was not safe to say it. Wherever there are Romish priests, there must be silent looks and tacit hints and unspoken understandings.
“Very good, Frances,” he said: “I will give no man to wit thereof.”
“I thank you right heartily, Tom. Should Dorrie abide here for your further satisfying, or may she go with me?”
“Go with you, go with you,” answered Mr Roberts hastily, waving Pandora away. “No need any further—time presseth, and I have business to see to.”