When their extraordinary turn-out drew up at the gate, Abel boisterously flourishing his lilac-laden whip and shouting elaborate but incomprehensible witticisms, Edward came hastily from the house. His eyes rested on Hazel, and were so vivid, so brimful of tenderness, that Abel remained with a joke half expounded.
'My Hazel,' Edward said, standing by the cart and looking up, 'welcome home, and God bless you!'
'You canna say fairer nor that,' remarked Abel. 'Inna our 'Azel peart?
Dressed up summat cruel inna she?'
Edward took no notice. He was looking at Hazel, searching hungrily for a hint of the same overwhelming passion that he felt. But he only found childlike joy, gratitude, affection, and a faint shadow for which he could not account, and from which he began to hope many things.
If in that silent room upstairs he had come to the opposite decision; if he had that very day told Hazel what his love meant, by the irony of things she would have loved him and spent on him the hidden passion of her nature.
But he had chosen the unselfish course.
'Well,' he said in a business-like tone, 'suppose we unpack the little creatures and Hazel first?'
Mrs. Marston appeared.
'Oh, are you going to a show, Mr. Woodus?' she asked Abel. 'It would have been so nice and pleasant if you would have played your instrument.'
'Yes, mum. That's what I've acome for. I inna going to no show. I've come to the wedding to get my belly-full.'