“When I promised to put up a headstone and have the grass well kept,” added Mr. Riley, “they began to cry; but they were tears of happiness, so Mrs. Scott assured me.”
Before Mr. Riley left, the quiet pony Mrs. Hartley had wished for was found; and Grace, taken by many devious paths to the top of a very high hill, where a throne was made for her amongst the purple heather, and the bees, as if to do her honour, never ceased humming in and out amongst the fragrant thyme.
But it was not there or then, with Nettie flitting round and about them, that John Riley spoke.
He waited till the leaves on the trees encircling Woodbrook had put on their October tints—till Grace was almost strong again—till it had been decided Nettie and her children were to go to England with Mrs. Hartley, and inhabit a cottage portly Mr. Marrables was despatched to inspect and of which he condescended to approve,—waited till the purple had faded from the heather and the Atlantic was beginning its winter wail of woe; then as they walked together by the sea, he said,—
“Lord Ardmorne has shown me how to save Woodbrook. It will require years—energy and hard work—but it may be done. When Mr. Brady found he could not oust out my father, he wrote to Lord Ardmorne who would, he concluded, purchase the estate, offering to tell him, for a share in the profits, how its value might be doubled.
“To this his lordship wrote, declining all communication with him on any subject whatsoever.
“Since Mr. Brady’s death, it has been ascertained what his scheme was, and Lord Ardmorne proposes I should take Woodbrook into my own hands, paying my father a certain sum sufficient to enable him, my mother, and the girls, to live comfortably, and myself carry out Mr. Brady’s design. He has also offered me the agency of all his Irish estates, as Mr. Walshe has been given over by the doctors.”
“And you will accept the agency and do as he so kindly suggests, of course?” said Grace, wondering why he paused so abruptly.
“It is not of course,” he answered; “for the decision rests with you.”
“With me,” she repeated; “what can I have to do with the matter?”