‘We stood for some time looking at the view,’ said Richard, seeing Rosalie somewhat confounded.
‘Lookin’ at the view, eh?’ echoed his uncle. ‘There bain’t any view to speak on from the mead. If you’d ha’ gone a bit further up the lane and turned the corner ye’d ha’ had a beautiful view o’ Branston. But if you enj’yed yourselves it’s all right.’
He wheeled round in his chair as he made this last remark, and looked from one to the other of the young folks. Both faces were alike downcast, and somewhat paler than usual. After a moment’s scrutiny Isaac became as crestfallen as they.
‘So long as you enj’yed yourselves,’ he repeated slowly. ‘So long as ye’ve a-made friends—I want ’ee to be friends, d’ ye see?’
Rosalie and Richard glanced at each other. He read in her face a kind of antagonism mingled with fear, and dropped his eyes quickly lest they might betray the anguish and longing with which his heart was full to bursting.
‘I want ’ee to be friends, d’ ye see?’ repeated the farmer anxiously and pleadingly. ‘There’s me and you, Mrs. F., as friendly as can be; and there’s you and me, Richard—you’re much the same’s a son to me, bain’t ye?—well, then there’s you and Mrs. F., why should n’t ’ee be friendly wi’ her?’
Richard, to whom the question was directed, remained dumb. Friends! Could they ever be friends?
Rosalie, however, made a step forward and extended her hand.
‘Why should we not, indeed?’ she said. ‘To tell you the truth, Isaac, we have done nothing but quarrel since we first met each other, which was very silly and unreasonable of us. Now, for your sake I am determined not to quarrel any more; and for your sake, I think, he too should be willing to keep the peace.’
‘Well said!’ cried Isaac heartily. ‘Well said, Mrs. F.! Now, Richard, my boy, where’s your hand? Just catch hold o’ Mrs. F.’s. That’s it—that’s it! Shake it well!’ Here he thumped the arm of his chair jubilantly. ‘You’ll be the best o’ friends from this day for’ard! Here we be, we three, friends all! Jist as me and poor ’Lias and Mrs. F. was friends—dear heart alive! yes, we was friends too—the best o’ friends! We was three then, and we be three now, bain’t us, Mrs. F.? We three! I do mind a old song as your poor dear mother used to sing, Richard: