"Good-bye, sir, and I hope we shall meet again." This was all our artist could find to say.
The coach had now driven up, and McGuilp had to undergo once more the ordeal of shaking hands. This was rather a trial, for although there could be no doubt as to the sincerity of the regret that each member felt at his departure, and the cordiality of their good wishes, yet there was one thought alone that now occupied his mind, viz., that of tearing himself away from his fair model.
Whether the members guessed this, and out of bare humanity wished to give him a chance to say a few words alone with his lady-love, we know not; but, having wished their guest God-speed, they left him, and surrounded the coach. Some of them patted the smoking horses; one had a word with the driver; others seemed to scrutinise the travellers and the vehicle. Our host and hostess stood at the door of the inn, and wished their late guest a happy journey and a speedy return, to which our artist responded by a hearty shake of the hand and a few appropriate words.
The landlord was then called off to serve the driver with a mug of ale, but before he went he called out to his daughter, who was hiding herself behind her mother in the passage, "Now, then, Helen, my girl, the gentleman is going, and wants to bid you good-bye."
Helen now came forward, pale and trembling, while Dame Hearty, perhaps guessing the state of things, prudently retired, thus leaving the young couple to say a word to each other in private.
"Good-bye, Helen, my girl, and may God bless you," was all our artist could trust himself to say at the last; but his sad glance and the tender squeeze he gave her dimpled hand spoke volumes.
"Good-bye, sir," faltered the child, now choking with sobs; "good-bye, and may you be happy." Then breaking down altogether, she rushed inside and was seen no more. Our artist looked after her for a moment as if dazed.
"Now, then, sir," cried the driver, "come along if you're coming; we're off."
McGuilp, thus roused, threw his cloak around him, pressed his hat over his eyes, and hastily mounted. Crack went the whip, off went the horses, and our artist was swiftly borne from the scene where he had passed so many happy hours, midst cheering and waving of hats, to which he graciously, but with an aching heart, responded. He was now alone with his own thoughts, and barely glancing at the shifting wintry landscape as it flashed passed him, was in no humour to exchange commonplaces with his fellow passengers. Here we will leave him for the present, and return to our inn.
The members of the club, with the exception of our antiquary, who had remained behind to finish a letter for the post, had resolved upon a woodland ramble, and were chatting lightly by the way.