"Then I will go to the 'King's Head,'" said Bellew. "And what message do you send him?"
"None," said Miss Priscilla, laughing and shaking her head,—"at least,—you can tell him, if you wish,—that—the peaches are riper than ever they were this evening."
"I won't forget," said Bellew, smiling, and went out into the sunshine. But, crossing the yard, he was met by Adam, who, chuckling still, paused to touch his hat.
"To look at that theer 'all, sir, you wouldn't never know as there'd ever been any sale at all,—not no'ow. Now the only question as worrits me, and as I'm a-axin' of myself constant is,—what will Miss Anthea 'ave to say about it?"
"Yes," said Bellew, "I wonder!" And so he turned, and went away slowly across the fields.
Miss Priscilla had been right,—Anthea was coming back the longest way round,—also she was anxious to keep away from Dapplemere as long as possible. Therefore, despite Small Porges' exhortations, and Bess's champing impatience, she held the mare in, permitting her only the slowest of paces, which was a most unusual thing for Anthea to do. For the most part, too, she drove in silence seemingly deaf to Small Porges' flow of talk, which was also very unlike in her. But before her eyes were visions of her dismantled home, in her ears was the roar of voices clamouring for her cherished possessions,—a sickening roar, broken, now and then, by the hollow tap of the auctioneer's cruel hammer. And, each time the clamouring voices rose, she shivered, and every blow of the cruel hammer seemed to fall upon her quivering heart. Thus, she was unwontedly deaf and unresponsive to Small Porges, who presently fell into a profound gloom, in consequence; and thus, she held in the eager mare who therefore, shied, and fidgeted, and tossed her head indignantly.
But, slowly as they went, they came within sight of the house, at last, with its quaint gables, and many latticed windows, and the blue smoke curling up from its twisted chimneys,—smiling and placid as though, in all this great world, there were no such thing to be found as—an auctioneer's hammer.
And presently they swung into the drive, and drew up in the courtyard. And there was Adam, waiting to take the mare's head,—Adam, as good-natured, and stolid as though there were no abominations called, for want of a worse name,—sales.
Very slowly, for her, Anthea climbed down from the high dog-cart, aiding Small Porges to earth, and with his hand clasped tight in hers, and with lips set firm, she turned and entered the hall. But, upon the threshold, she stopped, and stood there utterly still, gazing, and gazing upon the trim orderliness of everything. Then, seeing every well remembered thing in its appointed place,—all became suddenly blurred, and dim, and, snatching her hand from Small Porges' clasp, she uttered a great, choking sob, and covered her face.
But Small Porges had seen, and stood aghast, and Miss Priscilla had seen, and now hurried forward with a quick tap, tap of her stick. As she came, Anthea raised her head, and looked for one who should have been there, but was not. And, in that moment, instinctively she knew how things came to be as they were,—and, because of this knowledge, her cheeks flamed with a swift, burning colour, and with a soft cry, she hid her face in Miss Priscilla's gentle bosom. Then, while her face was yet hidden there, she whispered: