After all his Continental wanderings Sir John had come back to substantial English fare with an unabated relish; and Angela had to sit down, day after day, to a huge joint and an overloaded dish of poultry, and to reassure her father when he expressed uneasiness because she ate so little.
“Women do not want much food, sir. Martha’s rolls, and our honey, and the conserves old Marjory makes so well, are better for me than the meat which suits your heartier appetite.”
“Faith, child, if I played no stouter a part at table than you do, I should soon be fit to play living skeleton at Aylesbury Fair. And I dubitate as to your diet-loaves and confectionery suiting you better than a slice of chine or sirloin, for you have a pale cheek and a pensive eye that smite me to the heart. Indeed, I begin to question if I was kind to take you from all the pleasures of the town to be mewed up here with a rusty old soldier.”
“Indeed, sir, I could be happier nowhere than here. I have had enough of London pleasures; and I was meditating upon returning to the convent, when you came to put an end to all my perplexities; and, sir, I think God sent you to me when I most needed a father’s love.”
She went to him and knelt by his chair, hiding her tearful eyes against the cushioned arm. But, though he could not see her face, he heard the break in her voice, and he bent down and lifted her drooping head on his breast, and kissed the soft brown hair, and embraced her very tenderly.
“Sweetheart, thou hast all a father’s love, and it is happiness to me to have thee here; but old as I am, and with so little cunning to read a maiden’s heart, I can read clear enough to know thou art not happy. Whisper, dearest. Is it a sweetheart who sighs for thy favours far off, and will not beard this old lion in his den? My gentle Angela would make no ill choice. Fear not to trust me, my heart. I will love whom you love, favour whom you favour. I am no tyrant, that my sweet daughter should grow pale with keeping secrets from me.”
“Dear father, you are all goodness. No, there is no one—no one! I am happy with you. I have no one in the world but you, and, in a so much lesser degree of love, my sister and her children—”
“And Fareham. He should be to you as a brother. He is of a black melancholic humour, and not a man whom women love; but he has a heart of gold, and must regard you with grateful affection for your goodness to him when he was sick. Hyacinth is never weary of expatiating upon your devotion in that perilous time.”
“She is foolish to talk of services I would have given as willingly to a sick beggar,” Angela answered, impatiently.
Her face was still hidden against her father’s breast; but she lifted her head presently, and the pale calmness of her countenance reassured him.