"I shall look in to-morrow, to know if you are all right," he replied.
They had now reached the entrance. Wilton sprang down, and, as Miss Rivers was muffled in plaids, nearly lifted her from the carriage, though with all the deference he would have shown a princess.
"Good-by! I hope you will not be the worse."
"Adieu!" For a moment she raised her eyes to his with a frank, kind glance, and vanished into the house.
For a moment Wilton hesitated, then mounted the dog-cart, and drove back as fast as circumstances would allow. He was conscious of an angry, uncomfortable sensation toward Moncrief—a feeling that it would be a great relief to avoid dining with him—of a curious, uneasy strain of dissatisfaction with himself—with the routine of life—with everything! It was so infernally stupid, smoking and reading, or listening to Moncrief's prosings, all the evening; while that cranky, tiresome boy, Fergusson, would be talked to, and soothed, and petted by Ella Rivers. And she—would she wish to be back at Glenraven, telling the story of her simple yet stirring life to an absorbed listener? Yes, without a shadow of conceit he might certainly conclude that she would prefer an intelligent companion like himself to that cross-grained boy; but he had very little to nourish conceit upon in the recollection of the delightful tête-â-tête he had enjoyed. Never before had he met a woman so free from the indescribable consciousness by which the gentler sex acknowledge the presence of the stranger. She must have been much in the society of men, and of men, too, who were not lovers. Yet stop! How much of her composure and frankness was due to the fact of her being already wooed and promised to one of those confounded carbonari fellows? The very idea made Wilton double-thong his leader—for tandem stages had been thought necessary—to the infinite surprise of his servant. However, he reached his destination at last, and as he threw off his plaid in the hall Mrs. McKollop's broad and beaming face appeared at a side-door.
"Aweel, sir, din ye win ower a' right to Brosedale wi' the young leddy? I've been aye watching the weather; for I don't think she is just that strong. Eh, sir! but she is a bonnie bird—sae saft and kind! When she was going, after I had red up her things for her, she says, 'If you are as good a cook as you are a ladies' maid, I am sure Major Moncrief must be pleased with his dinners,' says she; an' wi' that she takes this neckerchief from her pretty white throat, and says she, so gentle and so grand, 'Wear this for me, Mrs. McKollop,' putting it round my neck her ainsel'. 'Think, whenever ye put it on,' says she, 'that I shall always remember your motherly care.' The bonnie bird! I'm thinking she has nae mither, or they wouldn't let her be worrit wi' that ill-faured, ill-tempered bairn at Brosedale."
"I left Miss Rivers quite safe, I assure you, and, as far as I could observe, quite well, at the door," said Wilton, who had listened with much attention to this long speech, looking all the time at the pretty violet necktie held up in triumph by Mrs. McKollop, and conscious of a boyish but strong inclination to purchase it, even at a high premium, from the worthy house-keeper. "I am sure you did your best for our charming visitor."
"That I did; an' I tauld her that it was a pleasure to cook for the colonel; for though she spoke of the major, it was aye you she thocht on."
"Oh, nonsense!" returned Wilton, good-humoredly, and he left the eloquent Mrs. McKollop, to join the moody Moncrief, with whom he exchanged but few remarks, till dinner thawed them. The evening passed much as usual, but neither mentioned their guest—a fact by no means indicating that she was forgotten by either.