"Good-afternoon!" said George, and turned on his heel.
"Good-bye!" said Meg, and then held out her hand. She had been angry at the sneer at the preacher; but she could not bear, even seemingly, to desert any one who had done her a service.
"Please shake hands with me," she said. "And don't go away angry, after having brought me such good news."
She felt a little as if she were standing between fire and gunpowder, but that did not appear in her manner. She would have thought it "beneath" both herself and Barnabas to allow it to.
George took the hand, and held it a moment in his. He would have liked to kiss it, and all the more because that "canting brute" was looking on; but he did not: he reverenced Meg too much.
"Give my most humble respects to Mrs. Russelthorpe," he said; and then, with real kindliness: "I am glad you are going to your father. You will go soon? That's right! He is waiting for you. He told me to tell you to make haste. He will do his best to wait till you come."
"He will!" said Meg. "I think we shall see each other this once more, because we both want it so."
"A most illogical 'because,'" said George to himself. "But yet, God bless her, and give her her heart's desire!"
He looked back once, and saw the two still standing under the rick.
"And d——n the preacher!" he added. "By-the-bye, what had that fellow meant?" George grew angry in thinking of him.