“Not good news?”
“I can not see any good.”
He repeated in a hurried tone:
“‘Good tidings every day;
God’s messengers ride fast.
We do not hear one half they say,
There is such noise on the highway
Where we must wait while they ride past.’”
“Perhaps I do not hear one half they say this time; the half I do hear is troublesome enough. Some day, when I may begin ‘five and fifty years ago,’ I will tell you a story.”
“Will it take so long for me to become worthy to hear it?”
“I wish I might tell you; you always help me,” she said impulsively.
“Is there a hindrance?”
“It is too near to be spoken of.”
She was not in the mood for chess, but her father brightened at Mr. Hammerton’s entrance, arose, threw off the shawl, and came to the table, saying that he would watch her moves. He seated himself close to her, with an arm across the back of her chair, once or twice bringing his head down to the chestnut braids.