“Then you marry directly, if Sarah Anne lives?”
“Directly. In January, at the latest.”
“God bless you both!” cried the old knight. “She’ll be a wife in a thousand, Thomas.”
Thomas thought she would. He did not say it.
“It’s the best plan; it’s the best plan,” continued Sir George in a dreamy tone, gazing into the fire. “No use to turn the girls out of their home. It will not be for long; not for long. Thomas”—turning his haggard, but still fine blue eye upon his son—“I wish I had never left Ashlydyat!”
Thomas was silent. None had more bitterly regretted the departure from it than he.
“I wish I could go back to it to die!”
“My dear father, I hope that you will yet live many years to bless us. If you can get through this winter—and I see no reason whatever why you should not, with care—you may regain your strength and be as well again as any of us.”
Sir George shook his head. “It will not be, Thomas; I shall not long keep you out of Ashlydyat. Mind!” he added, turning upon Thomas with surprising energy, “I will go back before Christmas to Prior’s Ash. The last Christmas that I see shall be spent with my children.”
“Yes, indeed, I think you should come back to us,” warmly acquiesced Thomas.