Jonathan Maxfield's face brightened wonderfully as he read Minnie's gracious words. A glow of pleasure came over his hard features. But it was not a very agreeable sort of pleasure to behold, being considerably mingled with malicious triumph. Here was a well-timed circumstance indeed! What could Powell, or such as Powell, say now? Let the Erringtons behave as they might, it was clear henceforward that Rhoda had not been received amongst gentlefolks solely on their account. His girl was liked and made much of for her own sake.
"Well," said he, "this is a very pretty letter of Miss Minnie's; very pretty indeed." He did not allow his voice to express his exultation, but spoke in his usual harsh, grumbling tones.
"Yes," answered Rhoda, tremulously, "it is very kind of Miss Minnie, and of dear Mrs. Bodkin; wonderfully kind! But I—I don't think I want to go, father."
"Not want to go? Nonsense! That's mere idle nonsense. Of course you will go. I shall take you down by the coach myself."
"Oh thank you, father, but—I really don't want change. I don't care about going to the seaside."
The old man turned upon her almost savagely. "I say you shall go. You must go. Are you to creep into a hole like a sick beast of the field, and hide yourself from all eyes? There, there," he added in a gentler tone, drawing her towards him, as he saw the tears begin to gather in her eyes, "I am not chiding you, Rhoda. But it will be good for you to accept this call from your kind friends. It will be good for mind and body. You will be quiet there, among fresh scenes and fresh faces. And you will return to Whitford in the company of these gentlefolks, who, it is clear, are minded to stand your friends under all circumstances. Seth's wife is a worthy woman, but she is not a companion for you, Rhoda."
One phrase of this speech did seem to offer a glimpse of consolation to Rhoda; the promise, namely, of quiet and fresh scenes, where she and her belongings were utterly unknown. But her father did not know that Minnie Bodkin understood her little love-story from first to last; and that Minnie Bodkin's presence and companionship might not be calculated to pour the waters of oblivion into her heart. Still she reflected, a day must come when she would have to face Miss Minnie, and all the other Whitford people who knew her. There was no chance of her dying at once and being taken away from it all! And Rhoda's teaching had made her shrink from the thought of desiring death, as from something vaguely wicked. On the whole, it might be the best thing for her to go to the Bodkins. She would better have liked to continue her solitary rambles in Pudcombe Woods or the meadows at Duckwell; only that now the pain awaited her, every evening, at the farm, of hearing Algernon's marriage discussed and speculated on. She could not shut out the topic. On the whole, then, it might be the best thing she could do, to get away from Whitford gossip for a time.
These considerations Rhoda brought before her own mind, not with any idea that they could avail to decide her line of conduct, but by way of reconciling herself to the line of conduct she should be compelled to take. It never entered her head that any resistance would be possible when once her father had said, "You must go."
"Very well, father," she answered meekly, after a short pause.
The Bodkins' invitation was duly communicated to Seth and his wife. And it was arranged that Rhoda should start from the farm without returning to Whitford at all, as a cross road could be reached from Duckwell, where the coach would stop to pick up passengers. "If there's any garments you require, beyond those you have here, your aunt Betty shall send them over by the carrier, to-morrow," said Mr. Maxfield.