There was a sound of doors opening, of voices outside; the peal of the church bells rose and fell on the breeze. Angel felt herself drawn into her brother's arms. His voice sounded above her:
'Angel, don't cry so; look up, dear, listen—there are wonders on sea as well as on land; you must listen and hope, and——'
But at that moment there was a shriek in the hall—Betty's voice, and then a clamour of crying and laughing and questioning, a door burst open, a pair of arms round Angel's neck, a curly head against her cheek, and over all the triumphant tones of Kiah Parker's voice as he stumped with his wooden leg upon the floor.
'Don't you be afeard. Our young ladies ain't the sort as dies of joy, bless 'em, bless 'em all, every one of 'em!' and round the group he hobbled in a sort of Indian war-dance, till Nancy, who couldn't get into the circle and wanted to say something, called out between laughing and crying:
'Oh, Uncle Kiah, do mind the polished floor!'
And all the time the bells rang their cheery peal for what brave English hearts had done.
It was very early the next morning, when only the birds, who scarcely seem to sleep at all in springtime, and the busiest people in Oakfield were up, that Peter Rogers might have been seen setting a ladder against Sir Godfrey's oak-tree and preparing to go up it. Mr. Collins came to the inn door while he was doing it.
'Holloa! Pete, my man, and what may you be after?' he exclaimed.
'Just running a bit of a flag up on the old tree, Mr. Collins, with your good leave.'
Mr. Collins rubbed his hands with great satisfaction.