Harding laughed, but replied the next moment, in a grave tone, "I don't like the Ramleys, sir, and don't want to have more to do with them than I can help. I shall hear all about it soon enough, without going there."
"But I sha'n't," answered Mr. Radford.
"Then you had better send your son, sir," rejoined Harding. "He's oftener there than I am, a great deal.--Well, the matter is all settled, then. Either the night after to-morrow, or the night after that, if the men keep a good look-out, they'll see a light on Tolsford Hill. Then they must gather as fast as possible at Saltwood, and come on with anybody they may find there. Good night, Mr. Radford."
"Good night, Harding--good night," said Mr. Radford, walking on; and the other turning his steps back towards Harbourne, made his way, by the first road on the right, to the cottage where we have seen him in the earlier part of the day.
It was a pleasant aspect that the cottage presented when he went in, which he did without any of the ceremonies of knocking at the door or ringing the bell; for he was sure of a welcome. There was but one candle lighted on the table, for the dwellers in the place were poor; but the room was small, and that one was quite sufficient to shew the white walls and the neat shelves covered with crockery, and with one or two small prints in black frames. Besides, there was the fire-place, with a bright and cheerful, but not large fire; for though, in the month of September, English nights are frequently cold and sometimes frosty, the weather had been as yet tolerably mild. Nevertheless, the log of fir at the top blazed high, and crackled amidst the white and red embers below, and the flickering flame, as it rose and fell, caused the shadows to fall more vaguely or distinctly upon the walls, with a fanciful uncertainty of outline, that had something cheerful, yet mysterious in it.
The widow was bending over the fire, with her face turned away, and her figure in the shadow. The daughter was busily working with her needle, but her eyes were soon raised--and they were very beautiful eyes--as Harding entered. A smile, too, was upon her lips; and though even tears may be lovely, and a sad look awaken deep and tender emotions, yet the smile of affection on a face we love is the brightest aspect of that bright thing the human countenance. It is what the sunshine is to the landscape, which may be fair in the rain or sublime in the storm, but can never harmonize so fully with the innate longing for happiness which is in the breast of every one, as when lighted up with the rays that call all its excellence and all its powers into life and being.
Harding sat down beside the girl, and took her hand in his, saying, "Well, Kate, this day three weeks, then, remember?"
"My mother says so," answered the girl, with a cheek somewhat glowing, "and then, you know, John, you are to give it up altogether. No more danger--no more secrets?"
"Oh, as for danger," answered Harding, laughing, "I did not say that, love. I don't know what life would be worth without danger. Every man is in danger all day long; and I suppose that we are only given life just to feel the pleasure of it by the chance of losing it. But no dangers but the common ones, Kate. I'll give up the trade, as you have made me promise; and I shall have enough by that time to buy out the whole vessel, in which I've got shares, and what between that and the boats, we shall do very well. You put me in mind, with your fears, of a song that wicked boy, little Starlight, used to sing. I learned it from hearing him: a more mischievous little dog does not live; but he has got a sweet pipe."
"Sing it, John--sing it!" cried Kate; "I love to hear you sing, for it seems as if you sing what you are thinking."