He looked at her almost savagely, white-faced. Then in silence he swung on his heel and went off through the trees. Six paces he had taken when he came face to face with an elderly, grave-faced gentleman in the clerkly attire of a churchman, who was pacing slowly reading in a book. The parson raised his eyes. They were long-shaped blue eyes like Nancy’s, but kindlier in their glance.
“Why, Randal!” he hailed the boy who was almost hurtling into him, being half-blinded by his unshed tears.
The youth commanded himself.
“Give you good-morning, Mr. Sylvester. I ... I but came to say good-bye....”
“Why, yes, my boy. Your father told me....”
Through the trees came the girl’s teasing voice.
“You are detaining the gentleman, father, and he is in haste. He is off to conquer the world.”
Mr. Sylvester raised his heavy grey eyebrows a little; the shadow of a smile hovered about the corners of his kindly mouth, his eyes looked a question, humorously.
Randal shrugged. “Nancy is gay at my departure, sir.”