"I thank you for having spoken frankly to me," he said to Barbara Simmons; "I believe that you have spoken in good faith. But I do not think my darling is for ever lost to me. I anticipate trouble and anxiety, disappointment, defeat for a time,––for a long time, perhaps; but I know that I shall find her in the end. The business of my life henceforth is to look for her."
Barbara's dull eyes held earnest watch upon the young man's countenance as he spoke. Anxiety and even fear were in that gaze, palpable to those who knew how to read the faint indications of the woman's stolid face.
[CHAPTER X.
THE PARAGRAPH IN THE NEWSPAPER.]
Mr. Morrison brought the gig and pony to the western porch while Captain Arundel was talking to his cousin's servant, and presently the invalid was being driven across the flat between the Towers and the high–road to Kemberling.
Mary's old favourite, Farmer Pollard's daughter, came out of a low rustic shop as the gig drew up before her husband's door. This good–natured, tender–hearted Hester, advanced to matronly dignity under the name of Mrs. Jobson, carried a baby in her arms, and wore a white dimity hood, that made a penthouse over her simple rosy face. But at the sight of Captain Arundel nearly all the rosy colour disappeared from the country–woman's plump cheeks, and she stared aghast at the unlooked–for visitor, almost ready to believe that, if anything so substantial as a pony and gig could belong to the spiritual world, it was the phantom only of the soldier that she looked upon.
"O sir!" she said; "O Captain Arundel, is it really you?"
Edward alighted before Hester could recover from the surprise occasioned by his appearance.
"Yes, Mrs. Jobson," he said. "May I come into your house? I wish to speak to you."
Hester curtseyed, and stood aside to allow her visitor to pass her. Her manner was coldly respectful, and she looked at the young officer with a grave, reproachful face, which was strange to him. She ushered her guest into a parlour at the back of the shop; a prim apartment, splendid with varnished mahogany, shell–work boxes––bought during Hester's honeymoon–trip to a Lincolnshire watering–place––and voluminous achievements in the way of crochet–work; a gorgeous and Sabbath–day chamber, looking across a stand of geraniums into a garden that was orderly and trimly kept even in this dull November weather.
Mrs. Jobson drew forward an uneasy easy–chair, covered with horsehair, and veiled by a crochet–work representation of a peacock embowered among roses. She offered this luxurious seat to Captain Arundel, who, in his weakness, was well content to sit down upon the slippery cushions.