"Suppose you come in to the parsonage for an hour or two this evening?" suggested Mr. Daw. "Come to tea. I am sure they'll be glad to see you."
"All right; I'll come," cried Rupert, cantering off.
But a few minutes, and he cantered down again, letter in hand. Old Canham was alone then. Rupert looked towards him, and nodded as he went past. There was a receiving-house for letters at a solitary general shop, not far beyond Trevlyn Farm, and to this Rupert went, posted the letter, and returned to Trevlyn Hold. Sending his pony to the stable, he began to get ready for his visit to Mr. Freeman's—a most ill-fated visit, as it was to turn out.
They took tea at the parsonage at six, and he had to hasten to be in time. He had made his scanty dinner, as usual, at Blackstone. In descending the stairs from his room he encountered Mrs. Chattaway in the lower corridor.
"Are you going out, Rupert?"
"I am going to the parsonage, Aunt Edith. Mr. Daw leaves this evening, and he asked me to go in for an hour or two."
"Very well. Remember me kindly to Mrs. Freeman. And, Rupert—my dear——"
"What?" he asked, arresting his hasty footsteps and turning to speak.
"You will not be late?"
"No, no," he answered, his careless tone a contrast to her almost solemn one. "It's all right, Aunt Edith."