“I shall be obliged to sit down for an hour and set down the heads of my letter, I suppose,” said Salis.
“To-night, Hartley?” cried Leo, suddenly displaying great interest in her brother’s welfare. “No, no; don’t do that. You seem so fagged.”
“Yes, you seem tired out, dear,” said Mary.
“Go and have a good night’s rest,” said Leo, smiling, and rising to kiss him. “Good night, dear. Good night, Mary. But you will go to bed, Hartley?”
“Well,” he said, “if you two order it I suppose I must.”
“And we do order it,” said Leo playfully; “eh, Mary?”
“Yes, get up early and have a good morning’s walk,” said Mary, with the result that the lamp was extinguished after candles had been lit. Leo went to her room, and Hartley Salis performed his regular task of carrying his sister to her door; after which, by the help of a couple of crutch-handled sticks, she could manage to get about.
An hour later all was hushed at the Rectory, and another hour passed when Hartley Salis had been dreaming uneasily of listening to a lecture from the rector about his neglect of the parish, the rector striking hard on the principle of the rough who blunders against a person and exclaims—
“Where are yer shoving to?” The lecture had reached an imaginary point at which the rector had exclaimed, with his hand on the bell:
“And now we understand one another, Mr Salis. Good morning.”