“Hush! Geoffrey,” I said. “It is I, true enough, and I am well enough, but prithee keep quiet awhile, for I do not wish anyone to know that I have returned for a season. Tell me first how is my uncle and Mistress Rose. Are they well, Geoffrey? Quick!”
“Oh, Master Humphrey,” quoth he, “what a turn you have given me! Yes, sir, yes; your uncle, good man, is well, though he hath never been the same man since you disappeared, Master Humphrey. And as for Mistress Rose, ’tis just the same sweet maiden as ever, and hath grieved for you mightily. But what a to-do there will be, Master Humphrey! Prithee, let me go and tell all the folk.”
“Not now, Geoffrey, on thy life. Let me first see my sweetheart and my uncle, and then I will cause the great bell at the manor to be rung, and you shall take it for a signal and shall tell who you like.”
So he promised to obey me, and I left him and took my way towards the vicarage, for my heart longed sore for the presence of my sweetheart.
Now, as I came up to the front of the house there was a light burning in the parlor, and I stole up to the window and looked in, and saw Rose busy with her needle. Fair and sweet she was, aye, sweeter, I think, than ever; but it was easy to see that she had sorrowed, and that the sorrow had left its mark upon her. I had always remembered her in my trials and torments as the merry, laughing maiden, that had flown hither and thither like a spirit of spring; now I saw her a woman, sweet and lovely, but with a touch of sadness about her that I knew had come there because of me.
I went round to the door and tapped softly upon it. Presently came Rose, bearing a candle, and opened it to my knock, and looked out upon me. I drew farther away into the darkness.
“Is this the abode of Master Timotheus Herrick?” I asked.
“Yes, sir,” she answered, “but he is not in at this moment. You will find him at the church, where he has gone to read the evening service.”
“I had a message for his daughter,” said I.
“I am his daughter, sir. What message have you for me?”