“I am going to speak to uncle now,” said Lanty, “and if he is pleased we will go for a drive after supper to-night.”
“Yes,” she said; then “Lanty.” He looked at her; she uttered no other word; her eyes slowly filled with tears.
“Mabella, you trust me?”
“Absolutely,” she said, and the tears, brimmed over by a tender smile, glistened upon her cheeks.
“My angel,” he said, and gave her a look of adoration, then turned away, and went striding round to the side of the house where the others were alighting from the democrat waggon. Old Lansing looked up sharply as Lanty drew near. Something in the young man’s face held him silent an instant.
“I’m coming round to the barn with you,” said Lanty; “I want to speak to you.”
Sidney turning away heard the last words. He could not forbear a look of sympathetic comprehension. Lanty flushed to the eyes, and from that moment was a staunch and faithful ally to Sidney.
“She’s up on the landing,” said Temperance, as, a few minutes after, Lanty, pale and eager, entered the kitchen. Lanty had not spoken—nor did he now, but he went up to Temperance, put his hand upon her shoulder, and gave her a hearty kiss. Then he turned and went up the back stairs three at a time. Through the back hall to the great dusky silent landing, and there a little figure waited trembling.