Just then Farmer King came into the room. Now, the Kings may have been the humble retainers of the Dales for generations, but there was not the slightest doubt that Farmer King made a far more imposing appearance at that moment than did Mr. Dale of The Dales; for Mr. Dale stood up, thin, bewildered, shivering, his mind in the past, his eyes consumed by a sort of inward fire, but with no intelligence as far as present things were concerned; and Farmer King was intensely wide awake, and, so to speak, all there.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Dale,” he said. “And I beg your pardon, miss. I presume I am speaking to Miss Tredgold?”
“You are, Mr. King,” said that lady.
“Good-day to you all, misses,” said the farmer.
He looked round at the somewhat frightened little group of sisters in the background.
“I have come to say something,” said the farmer. “It is something about Miss Pauline. It is something about myself and Nancy, and it has to do with you, sir”—here he bowed low to Mr. Dale—“and with you, madam”—his bow was not quite so reverential when he turned to the lady.
“What is it? Please speak,” said Miss Tredgold. “We are very anxious about Pauline. Our nurse has just told us that she is not in her bedroom. Do you know where she is?”
“Well, madam, about half an hour ago I left Miss Pauline seated in my warm kitchen, in the company of my good daughter, Nancy, and eating as good a breakfast as I could provide for her. She did not eat much, madam, but it is there for her acceptance. The young lady is heartily welcome. She prefers us to you for the time being. She did not want you to know anything about it, but that ain’t quite my way, so I came to explain.”
“Please, please, Aunt Sophy, don’t be too angry,” here came from Verena’s lips.
“Silence, Verena!” said her father.