Miss Griselda had always a most placid face; she now said in her calmest tones:
“There is no need to excite yourself, Katharine. I too think the children have a claim on us. An arrangement can easily be made about the children—their mother is the difficulty.”
The face of the plainly dressed young woman could scarcely grow any paler. She gave a quick, very quick glance at handsome little Rachel, who stood with her head thrown back and her eyes eagerly watching each movement of the excited group around her; then the mother’s hand touched Kitty’s golden head with a very faint caressing touch, and then she spoke:
“I have come to make terms. I knew I should be considered an obstacle, but that is a mistake. I will be none. I am willing—I am willing to obliterate myself. I would talk to you and make terms, but I would make them alone—I mean I would rather not make them in the presence of the children.”
“I will take the children,” said Miss Katharine eagerly; “they want to see the house; I will take them round. They want grapes; I will take them to the vineries.”
“Oh, yes, we want grapes,” said Rachel in an excited voice; “we want lots of grapes—don’t we, Kitty?”
“Yes; lots,” answered Kitty, turning her flushed little face once more to view. She had been hiding it for the last few minutes against her mother’s black dress.
“That is my father’s bell,” said Miss Griselda suddenly. “I must hurry to him. I will see you presently, Mrs. Lovel; and, Katharine, you too must be present at our interview. I must ask Mrs. Martin to take the children round the place.”
Miss Griselda opened the thick oak door of the squire’s bedroom and went in. Her face was changed in expression and her usual self-possession had to a certain extent deserted her.
“What an age you have been away, Grizel,” said the old man testily. “You might have known that I’d want you. Did I not tell you to take the children out of the room and to come back to me presently? Did you not hear me when I said, ‘Come back to me presently?’ Oh, I see how things are!” continued the irate old man, with a burst of fury. “I am weak and ill now and my commands are nothing—my wishes are not of the slightest consequence. I know how it will be when I’m gone. You and Katharine promise faithfully to obey me now, but you’ll forget your promises when I’m gone. Even you, Griselda, who have always had the character of being strong-minded, will think nothing of your given word when I’m in my grave.”