Hargrave's timely change of tone had thus prevented the display of temper which Mabel had foreseen and dreaded.
"Pray do not mention it," he rejoined, quickly; "I ought to have forestalled observation, by introducing him to you—and you said nothing, after all—I only thought you looked contemptuous—so I was too hasty, and it was my fault. You may, probably, never have heard of him, for he has not been in England for many years. He is my maternal uncle, the son of my grandmother, by her first husband—my own mother being a Lesly. I have heard that, when a very young man, he was of such enthusiastic temperament, that he entered the church mission, which took him abroad, for a long time, where, amongst heathen and savage life, he devoted himself to the work he had undertaken with great success, enduring, cheerfully, every kind of privation, being separated from the society of his equals, and without reserving to himself a single solace, but the one feeling that he was performing his duty. One cannot help admiring such a character," he added, hastily, as if excusing his energy, and concluding the last words in a tone of cold considerative philosophy.
"Well, and has he never been home since then?" enquired Caroline.
"Yes," replied Hargrave, "he returned about twenty years ago to take possession of a large property in Northumberland, which he inherited by the death of his elder brother—but after converting all that could be alienated into ready money, he let his house and land to a friend, upon whose charity to his poorer tenants, he could fully rely, and did so, at a rent sufficiently low to enable him to expend what otherwise might have come direct to him, in useful improvements. It was during his stay at Aston, with my father, that I first saw a little of him; but I cannot say I knew him till we met as strangers, a short time ago, in India, where I found him devoting his wealth to the advancement of Christianity."
When he reached the last word, he uttered it in so incoherent a tone, that it seemed as if he had some difficulty in pronouncing it; and, as soon as dinner was concluded, he retreated to his room, in one of those moods, when, by common consent, they always left him to himself. He did not make his appearance again that evening; and when Caroline retired for the night, her chamber being above his, she could still hear the hasty tread up and down his room, which varied the dull silence which ever now and then preceded it; and next morning, when she woke, the first sound that greeted her ears, was the same hasty tread, resumed with the dawning light.
It was Sunday, and knowing that Hargrave would most likely absent himself, as usual, for the whole day, she resisted her disposition to take another nap, and got up, anxious not to lose the chance of seeing him, and, perhaps, having a tête-à-tête before breakfast.
Of all the days in the week, Sunday, in that house, was the least comfortable, particularly at breakfast time.
Every one was late, and never came down at any particular time—and somebody was sure to have a cold, and require breakfast sent up-stairs—joined, too, to all this, was the stiffness originating in the feeling that they were in Sunday costume, composed of dresses which required a great deal of care to be taken of them.
Caroline often secured to herself the pleasure of giving Hargrave a cup of tea before the others made their appearance; and Mabel, having, unluckily, made her entrée, one morning, at what she deemed so inopportune a period, avoided being early ever afterwards.