“That blind woman’s gone, the beast—I’m glad she’s away; and you’ll be the better o’ that, ma’am, I’m thinkin’. I was afeard o’ her a’most myself ever since last night; and Master Charles is gone, too, but he’ll be back soon.”
“He’ll come to-day?” she asked, in consternation.
“To-day, of course, ma’am—in an hour or less, I do suppose; and it would not be well done, I’m thinkin’, ma’am, for you to leave the Grange till you see him again, for it’s like enough he’ll a’ changed his plans.”
“I was thinking so myself. I’d rather wait here to see him—he had so much to distract him that he may easily think differently by this time. I’m glad, Mrs. Tarnley, you think so, for now I feel confident I may wait for his return—I think I ought to wait—and thank you, Mrs. Tarnley, for advising me in the midst of my distractions.”
“I just speak my mind, ma’am, and counsel’s no command, as they say; and I never liked meddlers; and don’t love to burn my fingers in other people’s brewes; so ye’ll please to mind, ma’am, ’tis for your own ear I speak, and your own wit will judge; and I wouldn’t have Master Charles looking askew, nor like to be shent by him for what’s kindly meant to you—not that I owe much kindness nowhere, for since I could scour a platter I ever gave work for wage. So ye’ll please not tell Master Charles I counselled ye aught in the matter.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Tarnley, just as you wish.”
“Would you please wish anything to eat, ma’am?” inquired Mildred, relapsing into her dry, official manner.
“Nothing, Mildred—no, thanks.”
“Ye’ll lose heart, miss, if ye don’t eat—ye must eat.”
“Thanks, Mildred, by-and-by, perhaps.”