‘Ah! well, I suppose it’s all right,’ responded the virtuous housekeeper; ‘but I should have thought the study or the gunroom would have been a fitter place. However, now you’re here, please to sit down, and I’ll go and tell his lordship as you’re come. You may have to wait a bit, I’m not sure as they’ve finished breakfast, but he’ll be here, I suppose, before long. Bless me, but you do look dazed, Nell Llewellyn; that fever has run you down terrible. Will you have a glass of wine before I go?’
‘No thank you, Mrs Hody,’ replied the girl, as she sat down in a chair and leaned her aching head against the wall. Mrs Hody bustled out of the room, and it seemed ages to Nell before any one came to join her. She heard voices and laughter proceeding from the garden, and many other sounds indicative of life and enjoyment, but all about the housekeeper’s domains, the intensest quiet seemed to reign. At last it was broken by the sound of a light quick footstep which made Nell’s heart leap within her bosom, coming along the stone passage, and in another moment, the door opened and closed, and Lord Ilfracombe stood before her. Nell struggled to her feet to meet him.
‘Oh! Vernie,’ were her first words; ‘it is not my fault.’
‘Hus—h’ said the earl, as he opened the door again and listened to hear if by any chance they could be overheard; ‘you mustn’t call me by that name, Nell, lest any of the servants should have a mind for eavesdropping.’
It was a small thing and a very natural thing for him to say, but it fell on the girl’s excited spirits like a cold douche.
‘I forgot, forgive me,’ she recommenced; ‘it was not my fault (I was going to say) that you received that note,—my lord. I would not have sent it to the Hall on any account, but my father fancied I might have some influence with you in a certain matter, and insisted on my asking to see you.’
‘It is all right,’ he said kindly; ‘only we must keep to the business—you understand.’
‘Oh! yes,’ she answered, with a catch in her breath, ‘and it is soon told. My father has been a tenant of Sir Archibald’s for many years, twenty-five, I think, or more, he has lived at Panty-cuckoo Farm all his married life, and both I and my sister were born there. Father has done a great deal for the land, and spent a lot of money on it, but Sir Archibald Bowmant keeps raising the rent until he fears it will be impossible for him to keep it on, and he thought perhaps—father thought that—you might be able to help him by your influence with Sir Archibald.’
‘But I don’t quite understand,’ said the earl; ‘what is it Mr Llewellyn wants me to do, Nell?’
‘He fancied you might be able to remonstrate with Sir Archibald, because it is so unfair.’