“Lord, Thou lovest the lad better than I do,” he said, half aloud. “Do Thy best for him!”
Then he lifted the latch, and met a warm welcome from his wife Persis.
“Mrs Jenny, your servant!” said the smooth tones of Robin Featherstone at the farmhouse door, about twenty hours later. “The horse awaits your good pleasure, and will only be less proud to bear you than I shall to ride before you.”
Jenny’s silly little heart fluttered at the absurd compliment.
“Farewell, Grandmother,” she said, going up to the old lady. “Pray, your blessing.”
Old Mrs Lavender laid her trembling hand on the girl’s head.
“May God bless thee, my maid, and make thee a blessing! I have but one word for thee at the parting, and if thou wilt take it as thy motto for life, thou mayest do well. ‘Look to the end.’ Try the ground afore thou settest down thy foot. ‘Many a cloudy morrow turneth out a fair day,’ and ‘’tis ill to get in the hundred and lose in the shire.’ So look to the end, Jenny, and be wise in time. ‘All that glittereth is not gold,’ and all gold does not glitter, specially when folk’s eyes be shut. We say down in my country, ‘There’s a hill against a stack all Craven through,’ and thou’lt find it so. God keep thee!”
Jenny’s father gave her a warm embrace and a hearty blessing, and his hand went to his eyes as he turned to Robin Featherstone.
“Fare you well, Robin,” said he, “and have a care of my girl.”
The elegant Mr Featherstone laid his hand upon that portion of his waistcoat which was supposed to cover his heart.