The farm-wife made no reply, but sat gazing wistfully before her.
“Yes, yes,” Prudence said earnestly. “It is just the money––nothing more. We must not let an innocent man suffer. And, ‘Aunt’ Sarah, we must prevail upon George to let us stop Hervey’s mouth. That is our chief difficulty. You will help me––you and mother. You are so clever, ‘Aunt’ Sarah. George will listen to you. Oh, we must––must save him, even against himself.”
Sarah nodded her head sagely; she was deeply affected by all she had heard, but she gave no outward sign.
“Child,” she replied, “we will all do our best––for him––for you; but yours is the tongue that will persuade him best. He loves you, child, and you love him. He will not persist, if you are set against it.”
“I hope it will be as you say,” replied Prudence dubiously. “But when he comes you will let him tell his story in his own way. You will listen patiently to him. Then you can laugh at his determination and bring your arguments to bear. Then we will keep him until Hervey arrives, and we will settle the matter for ever. Oh, mother, I dread what is to come.”
Mrs. Mailing did not seem to be paying much heed, but, as the girl moved away from her side, she spoke. There was no grief, no anger in her voice now. She spoke quite coldly, and Sarah Gurridge looked keenly over at her.
“Yes, girl, we’ll settle this rumpus, and––Hervey.”
Prudence moved towards the door. She turned at her mother’s words.