She held out her hand, and the constraint that was in spite of himself creeping over the new vicar was thawed away by the genial, innocent sunshine of the young girl’s smile.
“Good-bye,” he said, frankly; and his face lit up with pleasure. “I shall call very soon, and we won’t forget the botany.”
“Oh, no,” said Eve, as her arm was once more pinioned. “Come, Daisy, you are coming up to the house.”
“No, thank you, miss; I must go home now.”
As she spoke she hurried forward, tripped over the stile first, and was gone.
A minute later and Eve had lightly touched Richard Glaire’s arm, and climbed the stile in her turn, leaving the vicar to follow slowly, forgetful of the presence of the young workman—Podmore.
He was brought back from his dreamy musings on the relation existing between the young fellow who had just gone, and the sweet innocent girl who was his companion, by a rough grasp being laid upon his arm, and turning sharply, there stood Tom Podmore, with the veins in his forehead swelling, and his face black with rage.