The old man lifted his arm, and pointed to the mountain that stood in all the beauty of its wet verdure. He looked round upon them all, and there was unusual show of excitement in his manner.
"I have a message to you," he said. "Before another Lord's, day comes, He will come."
The two ministers heard him as they walked away, and the Scotchman thought to go back and reprove such an audacious word.
"He is mad; they all know that he is mad," urged Trenholme, dissuading him.
They looked back, and saw the old man still preaching to the labourers under the tree. A mare with its foal, and two half-grown colts, had come up to an open fence within the tree's shadow, and, with their long gentle heads hanging over, they too seemed to be listening.
The Scotchman, exhilarated by the cooling of the atmosphere, genially invited Trenholme to a longer walk. Chellaston Mountain, with its cool shades and fine prospect, was very near. A lane turned from the high road, which led to the mountain's base. A hospitable farmhouse stood where the mountain path began to ascend, suggesting sure offer of an evening meal. Trenholme looked at the peaceful lane, the beautiful hill, and all the sunny loveliness of the land, and refused the invitation. He had not time, he said.
So they walked back the mile they had come, and Trenholme little thought how soon, and with what agitation, he would pass that way again.
CHAPTER XVIII.
The next day, before Trenholme had had time to devise a plan for seeing Miss Rexford, Mrs. Martha brought him a telegram. She watched him as he drew his finger through the poor paper of the envelope, watched him as one might watch another on the eve of some decisive event; yet she could not have expected much from a telegram—they came too often.
"Ha!" cried Trenholme, "we are going to have visitors, Mrs. Martha."