During this speech, Gilbert had stood with his foot on the fender, and his hand held up as if to shield his face from the glow of the fire. He now observed softly—
‘I will go and change my things, and be with you in a few minutes.’
When he was alone in his bedroom, he took out his handkerchief and passed it across his forehead.
‘Disgusting! How overheated one gets with a long ride!’ he muttered to himself.
The hall bell sounded through the house. Self-possessed Gilbert gave a great start, and became suddenly paler than usual.
‘Pshaw!’ he uttered aloud, the next moment; ‘he has his key, of course.’
But it seemed to take him some time to change his riding-clothes for the garments he usually wore in an evening. Just before he went downstairs, he seated himself on a chair at his bedside, and drew a long breath.
‘Well, it had to be,’ he whispered to himself. ‘There was nothing else for it. And he is so dense—so dense. One must do the best. It was for the best.’
Then, as if feeling himself guilty of some weakness, he drew himself together with a little shake, composed his countenance, and went downstairs. Nothing was said by father or son relative to either the ride taken by the one, or the business accomplished by the other. Quite late, Otho Askam called to smoke a pipe and have a chat about the mills and other topics. And Gilbert slept quite soundly that night.
This was in May. During the summer Mr. Langstroth became somewhat stronger, and things went on in their usual course until November.