"Don't be afraid," said Iden. "Nothing to be afraid of"—mistaking her hesitation for awe.
"Afraid!" repeated Amaryllis, in utter bewilderment. "Afraid! I don't want to go."
"There's nothing to be afraid of, I'm sure," said the butler in his most insidious tones. "Mr. Pamment so very particularly wished to see you."
"Come—come," said old Iden, "don't be silly," as she still hung back. "It's a splendid place inside—there, lean on me, don't be afraid," and so the grandfather pulling her one side, and the butler very, very gently pressing her forward the other, they persuaded, or rather they moved Amaryllis onward.
She glanced back, her heart beat quick, she had half a mind to break loose—easy enough to over-turn the two old fogies—but—how soon "but" comes, "but" came to Amaryllis at sixteen. She remembered her father. She remembered her mother's worn-out boots. By yielding yet a little further she could perhaps contrive to keep her grandfather in good humour and open the way to a reconciliation.
So the revolutionary Amaryllis, the red-hot republican blood seething like molten metal in her veins, stepped across the hated threshold of the ancient and mediæval Pamments.
But we have all heard about taking the horse to water and finding that he would not drink. If you cannot even make a horse, do you think you are likely to make a woman do anything?
Amaryllis walked beside her grandfather quietly enough now, but she would not see or hear; he pointed out to her the old armour, the marble, the old oak; he mumbled on of the staircase where John Pamment, temp. Hen. VII., was seized for high treason; she kept her glance steadfastly on the ground.
Iden construed it to be veneration, and was yet more highly pleased.
Raleigh had taste enough to receive them in another room, not the whiskey-room; he met old Iden literally with open arms, taking both the old gentleman's hands in his he shook them till Iden tottered, and tears came into his eyes.