“And will you come to the Vicarage to-morrow afternoon, and have tea with us? I shall be so glad if you will!”
He did not add that his sister, wondering all the week at Edith’s non-appearance, had threatened repeatedly to call at the cottage, when she would doubtless have elicited something of the truth.
“No, I cannot come!” she said; “my cousin, Walter Hetherington, is staying in the village, and so long as he remains here he is to spend the evenings with us. As to-morrow is Sunday, and no work can be done, my aunt has invited him up for the day.”
Santley was relieved, very much relieved indeed. He could now give his sister a tangible reason for Edith’s absence from the Vicarage, while he himself would be perfectly free to spend the afternoon with Mrs. Haldane. He tried, to suppress the delight which he could not help feeling, and said quietly, “Let us hope the young man will make a speedy departure, if he means to monopolize you so much. But that reminds me, Edith, a young man, a Mr. Walter Hetherington, called upon me to-day and left his card. I suppose it is the same?”
“Of course it is,” returned Edith. “But what could he want with you?”
“I don’t in the least know. Nothing of very great importance, I suppose, since he promised to call again, and never reappeared.”
The clergyman paused.
They had come now to within a short distance of Edith’s home. Again, after a furtive look round, he clasped her fondly to him, pressed her lips, and murmured, “Good night, my Edith!”
“Good night,” returned the girl, withdrawing herself reluctantly from his embrace. “Oh, I am so happy now! You were quite right, dear; another week like the last would have broken my heart!”
Thus they parted—Edith, happy as a child, creeping quickly to the cottage; the good man smiling celestially, and well pleased to have made everything comfortable at little personal inconvenience, walking back to his holy hearth, and thinking of his Sunday sermon.