“Then you have no business to ride in a caroche till you are. I never heard of such a thing in my life. A man to ride in a caroche! We shall have them hemming handkerchiefs to-morrow.”
“You won’t have me,” said Aubrey.
“I won’t have you in there,” retorted Temperance bluntly, “without my Lady Lettice call you in, and that she won’t. Will you, Madam?”
“Certainly not, my dear, after your decision,” she replied. “Indeed, I do think it too effeminate for men, persons of high honour except, or them that are sick and infirm.”
“That rascal’s not sick, any more than he’s a person of honour.—Thee bestride thy horse, lad—without thou canst find an ass, which would suit with thee better.—Now, Hans, come and help me to mount.”
When all were mounted, the six great horses tugged and strained at the big coach, and with a good push from the four farm-servants, it moved forwards, at first slowly, then faster. The farm-servants stood bareheaded, to see the family depart, crying, “God bless you, my Lady, and bring you home in peace!”
Faith sank back sobbing into the corner, and there were tears in Edith’s eyes which she would not let fall.
“Farewell!” said Lady Louvaine, leaning forward. “Farewell, my good, kind old friends—Thomas, William, Isaac, and Gideon—I wish you God’s blessing, and a better head than I.”
“Nay, nay, that’ll ne’er be, nor couldn’t, no wise!” cried old Gideon, and the rest all echoed his “Nay, nay!”
“Farewell!” said his mistress again, somewhat faintly, as she sank back into the corner. “Friends, God will bless me, and He shall bring me home in peace.”