“The Vicar of St. Cuthbert’s,” answered the girl with some dignity.
Her ideas on the subject of conversation with strangers were strictly conventional, but besides the universal interest and curiosity which the mystery surrounding the new comer excited, she felt a sudden conviction that the attraction which brought him to this remote neighborhood was not unconnected with Vernon Brander.
The stranger gave a sort of grunt, and nodded significantly.
“I thought so,” said he.
Olivia turned away, with a deep flush in her cheeks, much vexed with herself for having given the man an opening for a remark which seemed highly impertinent. She was making boldly for the Vicarage when she heard the stranger’s voice again. He had followed and was walking beside her.
“Look here, Miss Denison,” he began, in a serious and respectful tone, “although I am a stranger to you, you are not one to me, for I’ve studied you since I’ve been in this neighborhood, as I’ve studied all the rest of my neighbors. And if I thought of them all as I do of you, it would be better for some of them.”
Olivia turned suddenly towards him, and stopped, impressed by his tone, and filled with dread of what was coming.
“Don’t be frightened,” he continued, in a voice which, for the rough man, was almost gentle. “You’re a fine, high-spirited, generous girl, and I want to be able to say to you that I will never harm you nor yours.”
“You want to be able to say it!” she exclaimed in bewilderment.
“Yes. As long as you remain Miss Denison I can say it, but if you were to shut your ears to everybody’s warnings and marry the Vicar of St. Moulder-in-the Hole here, I couldn’t.”