“Nothing: nothing but just what I say. You may tell Vernon that I am coming this evening to look after him. Here you are. You can slip through this gate and be off under the trees and down through the village. And I’ll make up a story for your step-mother.”
He opened the gate for her, and let her through. Olivia scarcely dared to believe that he would keep his promise of doing no harm to Vernon; still, his kindness to herself was encouraging, and, in spite of doubts and fears, pangs of jealousy of Mrs. Meredith, self-reproach for acting against her father’s wishes, Olivia felt lighter hearted since Ned Mitchell’s promise, and congratulated herself, as she approached St. Cuthbert’s Vicarage, and bade good-bye to faithful Mat, that she was the bearer of good news.
Her heart beat fast as she went up the stone pathway of the barren enclosure before the house. In answer to her knock, Mrs. Warmington opened the door, and uttered a short exclamation, whether of surprise, joy, or astonishment, the visitor could not tell.
“So that’s the answer to the conundrum!” was her rather bewildering greeting.
“Is Mr. Vernon Brander at home?” asked Olivia, with some dignity.
But Mrs. Warmington would have none of it.
“Oh, yes, you know he is,” she answered, impatiently. “And, what’s more, you know he’s ill. And he knows you are coming, and of course that’s the reason why he wouldn’t go back to bed, when he knows as well as I do that bed’s the place where he ought to be.”
“If he does expect me, it’s only guesswork,” said Olivia, more softly. “For I’ve sent him no message, and he has sent me none.”
“Oh, the air carries messages between some people,” said Mrs. Warmington, impatiently.
“Who is that?” asked Vernon Brander’s voice from the front room.