“Farewell, sweetheart!” said Featherstone, gallantly kissing Jenny’s fingers. “I go to France, but I leave my heart in Staffordshire. Pray you, sweet Mrs Jenny, what shall I bring you for a fairing from the gay city of Paris? How soon we shall return the deer knows; but you will wait for your faithful Robin?” And Mr Featherstone laid his hand elegantly on his heart.
“Oh, you’ll forget all about me when you are over there taking your pleasure,” said Jenny, in a melancholy tone.
Mr Featherstone was only half through a fervent asseveration to the effect that such a catastrophe was a complete impossibility, when Farmer Lavender came out.
“What, Jenny I come to look at us?” said he. “Thou’rt as welcome, my lass, as flowers in May. But how’s this—bags and all? Thou’st never been turned away, child?”
“Not for nought ill, father,” said Jenny, almost crying with conflicting feelings; “but Mrs Jane, she’s going to France, and all’s that upset—” and Jenny sobbed too much to proceed.
Mr Featherstone came to the rescue, and explained matters.
“Humph!” said the farmer; “that’s it, is it? World’s upset, pretty nigh, seems to me. Well, folks can’t always help themselves—that’s true enough. Howbeit, thou’rt welcome home, Jenny! there’s always a place for thee here, if there’s none anywhere else. You’ll come in and take a snack, Mr Featherstone?”
Mr Featherstone declined with effusive thanks. He had not a moment to spare. He remounted Winchester, shook hands with the farmer, kissed his hand to Jenny, and rode away. And the question whether Jenny would wait for his return was left unanswered.
“I’m glad to see thee back, my lass,” said old Mrs Lavender. “Home’s the best place for young lasses. Maybe, too, thou’lt be safer at the farm than at the Hall. The times be troublous; and if more mischief’s like to overtake the Colonel, though I shall be sorry enough to see it, I shan’t be sorry to know thou art out of it. Art thou glad to come back or not, my lass?”
“I don’t know, Granny,” said Jenny.