“Mr Whitstable is the manner of master good for me,” responded Aubrey with a smile: “namely, not unkindly, but inflexibly firm and just. I know that from him, if I deserve commendation, I shall have it; and if I demerit blame, I am evenly sure thereof: which is good for me. As to content—ay, I am content; but I can scarce go further, and say I find a pleasure in my work. That were more like thee than me.”
“And if it so were, Aubrey, that the Lord spake unto thee and me, saying, ‘Work thus no more, but return unto the old life as it was ere ye came to London town,’—how shouldst thou regard that?”
The momentary light of imagination which sprang to Aubrey’s eyes was succeeded and quenched by one of wistful uncertainty.
“I cannot tell, Hans,” said he. “That I were glad is of course: that I were wise to be glad is somewhat more doubtful. I am afeared I might but slip back into the old rut, and fall to pleasing of myself. Riches and liberty seem scarce to be good things for me; and I have of late,”—a little hesitation accompanied this part of the sentence—“I have thought it best to pray God to send me that which He seeth good, and not to grant my foolish desires. Truly, I seem to know better, well-nigh every day, how foolish I have been, and how weak I yet am.”
There was a second of silence before Hans said—
“Aubrey, what God sees good for thee, now, is the old home at Selwick Hall. May He bless it to thee, and fit thee for it!”
“What mean you?” asked the bewildered Aubrey.
A few minutes put him in possession of the facts. Nothing which had passed convinced Hans of a radical change in Aubrey’s heart, so completely as the first sentence with which he greeted the news of his altered fortune.
“Then my dear old grandmother can go home!”
“Thou wilt be glad to hear,” added Hans, quietly, “that Mrs Joyce Morrell hath sent her a caroche and horses wherein to journey at her ease. Mrs Temperance and Lettice go back to Keswick.”