"Do you know anything?" he asked. "Do you know that you are now talking to a gentleman?"
"Don't know as I do," mumbled Peter, backing in again.
"If Miss Greta is at home tell her I should be glad to speak with her—do you hear?" Peter disappeared.
Hugh was left alone in the hall. He waited some minutes, thinking that Peter was carrying his message. Presently he overheard that worthy reopening the discussion on Mother Langdale's sanity with little Jacob in the kitchen. The deep damnation he desired just then for Brother Peter was about to be indicated by another lusty rap on the kitchen door, when the door of the parlor opened, and Greta herself stood on the threshold with a smile and an outstretched hand.
"I thought it was your voice," she said, and led the way in.
"Your cordial welcome heaps coals of fire on my head, Greta. I cannot forget in what spirit we last talked and parted."
"Let us think no more about it," said Greta, and she drew a chair for him to the fire.
He remained standing, and as if benumbed by strong feeling.
"I have come to speak of it—to ask pardon for it—I was in the wrong," he said, falteringly.
She did not respond, but sat down with drooping eyes. He paused, and there was an ominous silence.