“Will anyone dare to say,” she rejoined, “that we shall not meet again?”
“The sort of God you believe in, miss, would not say it,” he answered; “but the sort of God my mother believes in would.”
“I know nothing about other people's Gods,” rejoined Barbara. “Indeed,” she added, “I know very little about my own; but I mean to know more: Mr. Wingfold will teach me!”
“Take care he don't overpersuade you, miss. You have been very good to me, and I couldn't bear you to be made a fool of. Only he can't be just like the rest!”
“He will persuade me of nothing that doesn't seem to me true—be certain of that, Richard. And if it please God to part us, I will pray and keep on praying to him to let us meet again. If I have been good to you, you have been much better to me!”
Richard was not elated. He only thought, “How kind of her!”
CHAPTER XXXIII. RICHARD AND VIXEN.
Barbara turned her mare across the road, and sent her at the hedge. Miss Brown cleared it like a stag, and took a bee-line along the grass for Wylder Hall. Richard stood astonished. A moment before she was close beside him, and now she was nearly out of his sight! The angel that ascended from the presence of Manoah could scarcely have more amazed the Danite. Though Richard could shoe a horse, he could no more have stuck to Miss Brown over that hedge than he could have ascended with the angel. He watched till she vanished, and then watched for her reappearance at a point of hope beyond. Only when he knew that distance and intervention rendered it impossible he should see her more, did he turn and take his way to Mortgrange.
He was as much in love with Barbara as a man could be who indulged no hope whatever of marrying her—who was not even tempted to build the humblest castle for her in the air of possibility. But so far was his love from causing in him any kind of selfish absorption, that his heart was much troubled at Alice's leaving him without a farewell. Her behaviour woke in him his first sense of the inexplicable: he little thought of its being but the first visible vapour of a mystery that involved both his past and his future. All he knew was, that the sister of his friend had, in a stormy night in London, fled from him as from a wild beast; and that now, on a quiet morning in the country, she was gone from his grandfather's house without a word of farewell to him who had called him to her aid.