“Within a week. Unless my father’s state should forbid it. I may be wishing to take a holiday at Christmas time, or thereabouts, so shall not stay away now. George is absent, too.”
“Staying at Broomhead?”
“No; he is not at Broomhead now.”
“Will you take charge of Maria? We want her home.”
“If you wish it, I will. But I should think they would all be returning very shortly. Christmas is intended to be spent here.”
“You may depend upon it, Christmas will not see Lady Godolphin at Prior’s Ash, unless the fever shall have departed to spend its Christmas in some other place,” cried the Rector.
“Well, I shall hear their plans when I get there.”
“Bring back Maria with you, Mr. Godolphin. Tell her it is my wish. Unless you find that there’s a prospect of her speedy return with Lady Godolphin. In that case, you may leave her.”
“Very well,” replied Thomas Godolphin.
He continued his way, and Mr. Hastings looked after him in the bright moonlight, till his form disappeared in the shadows cast by the roadside trees.