Mabel: A Novel. Vol. 3 (of 3)

by Mrs. C. J. Newby

With what pleasure he loitered from room to room, and then out to the green-houses and gardens; and, sometimes, he almost started, as some once familiar object distinctly recalled to mind the days of his boyhood. And then he would pause, to fancy how beautiful and how happy all would be, in the sunshine of his Mabel's presence.

But now Clair came to seek him, and they returned to a hearty breakfast, and then hurried off to the rectory, to fetch Mr. Ware and young Clifford to come with them to the inn, where already many an anxious peasant awaited them.

And when they did reach it, it was no light task to answer all claims, and equally to distribute favors, to the many who sought them.

Clair's head began to ache, many times, from the heated air of the large but well-filled room, and he, many times, strolled back to the rectory, to refresh himself.

Mr. Ware went back to his regular lunch, and dinner—and even Clifford found many opportunities of absenting himself; but still Hargrave sat on, apparently unwearied, as one after another sought his hearing, and laid claim to this or that disputed tenement. And his patience was well rewarded, by the satisfaction which he had afforded—for, towards the close of day, when the last claimant had been satisfied, the room was still thronged by those who were anxious to thank him for the attention he had shewn.

"Before I bid you good night," said Hargrave, rising as he spoke—and, as he did so, the fading rays of the evening sun played carelessly with his dark hair, and shed a light upon his face; "I have one question to ask you. Is there one among you, who will disapprove of my leniency in continuing this man," here he laid his hand upon the shoulder of his bailiff, who, with eyes fixed upon the ground, stood next him, and had been near him all day, "as my steward. If, since the night of the fire, he has done one wanton, or careless act—If he has neglected my interests by injuring you—speak, and he does not continue a day longer in his office; but, if not, I am not the man to close the gates of mercy against the repentant; and I say, that he shall have full opportunity of atoning for the past. If he has done wrong, in any one single instance, speak—if not, hold up your hands."

Every hand was raised, and the timid, but grateful expression, with which Rogers ventured to raise his eyes for the first time, seemed to say that the testimony thus given him was deserved.

"Very well," said Hargrave; "then he is my steward still, and long may he do his duty—but, my friends, remember, that I shall now be almost constantly with you, and I invite you all to dine on my grounds—on my wedding day, for I shall soon give Aston a mistress, who is already known, and loved, here. Mr. Clifford, who has already done so much for your comfort, will be kind enough to superintend your gaiety, and join you, I hope, in drinking my health. The only thing left me to ask, is your confidence, and your love, my good people, for I am come back to make a home among you."

The buzz of approbation which echoed through the long room, and even into the court-yard, beyond, might have satisfied him—but when, with a smile, he drew from his pocket a wig of shaggy hair, of the reddest hue, together with the slouched hat of a traveller, and placed them upon his head, they exclaimed, as with one voice, "The stranger!" and almost rent the place with their acclamations, pressing, at the same time, so closely round him, that he was glad to escape by a side door, from their eager protestations—and, as he paced rapidly up the path, through the fields, to the manor, he could still hear, in the distance, the untired hum of many voices, talking in surprise over the little romance of which he had been the hero.