“Now, husband, give them your blessing, and say that you are willing.”
“I cannot say I am willing,” the colonel answered, in a husky voice: “but we sometimes assent to what we do not like, and if Emma wants this young man, and thinks she can be happy with him away from all her family, I will not oppose her,—only let everything be done very quietly and unostentatiously. I could not endure a parade.”
And thus he gave his consent, which hurt almost as much as it pleased, though Emma put her arms around his neck, and thanked him for having made her so happy; but Robert merely bowed his thanks, and, with a manner as lofty and haughty as that of any Schuyler, left the room. Emma soon joined him, and with her he forgot in part the little sting, and thought only of the future, when she would be his wife and the mistress of Glenthorpe, a place finer even than Schuyler Hill, with a long line of noble ancestry, and a coat-of arms to give importance to it.
CHAPTER XLVI.
GODFREY AND HIS FATHER.
The dinner at Schuyler Hill that day was a rather dull affair compared with what the dinners usually were; for Alice and Julia kept their rooms with the headache, while immediately after his interview with Robert, the colonel had gone up the river a few miles on some business, which he told Edith might detain him past the dinner hour, and if so, she was not to wait. As he did not return, they sat down without him, but only Godfrey was inclined to talk. He had heard Robert’s story from Robert himself, and had indorsed him heartily, and teasingly congratulated Emma for having done so much better than he ever thought she could do with her little ankles and milk-and-water face.
It was anything but milk-and-water now, and, with the blushes burning so constantly on her cheeks, and the new light in her eyes, she was very pretty to look at, as she sat at the dinner table, and Godfrey told her so, and said it was a pity she had not been engaged before, it was so great an improvement to her, and all the time he joked and laughed he was thinking of his father, and wondering when he would be home.
Six, seven, eight, and nine, and still he had not come, and the moon would be up at ten, and Gertie waiting for him, and Godfrey paced up and down the long piazza, restless as a caged lion, until the sound of horse’s feet was heard, and the colonel came galloping up to the side door, where Godfrey met him before he had time to dismount.
“Father,” he said, “I have waited for you more than three hours. I must speak with you at once. Come in here, please.”
And he led the way to the same room where Robert had declared his love for Emma, and where Gertie had given her promise not to listen to Godfrey without his father’s consent.