William protested in vain.
“Yes, it’s the kind of wine young people like—they like it—sweet wine—you must. I hear her coming. What are you dawdling there for, Winnie? Come in—bring it in—why don’t you?”
So, sitting side by side, her hand on his, and looking often in his face as they talked, they sipped their wine; and old Winnie, standing by, had her glass, and drank their healths, and declared it was “a beautiful sight to see them.” And Aunt Dinah sent Tom to Saxton for some muffins for tea. Mr. William liked muffins—“Be quiet—you know you do.”
“I’m so sorry Violet should have been out, drinking tea at the Rectory; but you’re to stay to-night; you say you’ll be in time at Mr. Cleaver’s chambers at five to-morrow evening; and you have a London up train at half-past eleven at our station; and you must sleep at Gilroyd; it would not be like the old times if you didn’t.”
CHAPTER XLIX.
“AFTER DEATH MY GHOST SHALL HAUNT YOU.”
It was a clear, frosty, moonlight night, and the stars blinking and staring fiercely in the dark sky, as William Maubray peeped between the drawing-room shutters, and listened in vain for the ring of the wheels of the promised brougham; and Aunt Dinah returned just as he let the curtains fall together, having in her hand a little cardboard box tied round with a little blue ribbon.