“Yes, my lord!” and tottered away to find the pen and paper He found, after some search, a serviceable quill. He regarded it severely, and made it the recipient of a pithy confidence. “Mr. Eustace, is it?” he said scathingly. “Adone-do! Mr. Eustace never took no such notion into his wicked head, and well you know it! Mr. Eustace to be worriting himself over such things! Ay, justabout, he would! Out of your head that came, my lord, don’t tell me!”
The quill, very naturally, returned no answer. Hitchin sniffed and picked up the inkpot. “And a very good thing for you it will be to be shut of Mr. Eustace!” he said.
Carlyon, meanwhile, had entered the parlor. He found Miss Rochdale and the parson seated on either side of the fireplace. Miss Rochdale looked tired and a little pale, and there was a rather scared look in the eyes which she raised to his. He smiled reassuringly at her, and said, “Now, if you will come upstairs with me, Miss Rochdale, if you please!”
She said nothing. Mr. Presteign got up from his chair and asked nervously, “My lord, am I to infer that Mr. Cheviot is willing to have this ceremony performed?”
“Very willing.”
“Lord Carlyon!” said Miss Rochdale faintly.
“Yes, Miss Rochdale, in a little while. There is nothing to alarm you. Come!”
She rose and laid her hand on his proffered arm. He patted it briefly and led her to the door. She whispered, “Oh, pray do not—I am sure—”
“No, just trust me!” he said.
She could think of no reason why she should, but it did not seem possible to say so. She went with him up the stairs and into the sickroom.