“Horses, hay, farming, and politics.”
“Won’t you sup with him?”
“I shall see him again before I go to bed.”
“And again to-morrow!” cried Matilda, “what happiness!”
“He has visitors to-morrow,” said Sandford, “coming for a week or two.”
“Thank Heaven,” said Miss Woodley, “he will then be diverted from thinking on us.”
“Do you know,” returned Sandford, “it is my firm opinion, that his thinking of ye at present, is the cause of his good spirits.”
“Oh, Heavens!” cried Matilda, lifting up her hands with rapture.
“Nay, do not mistake me,” said Sandford; “I would not have you build a foundation for joy upon this surmise; for if he is in spirits that you are in this house—so near him—positively under his protection—yet he will not allow himself to think it is the cause of his content—and the sentiments he has adopted, and which are now become natural to him, will remain the same as ever; nay, perhaps with greater force, should he suspect his weakness (as he calls it) acting in opposition to them.”
“If he does but think of me with tenderness,” cried Matilda, “I am recompensed.”