Say and Seal, Volume II

by Susan Warner; Anna Bartlett Warner

"No, sir," said Faith he felt how eagerly her fingers grasped his, "it is in Mr. Linden's hands. He forgives Mr. Middleton entirely."

"I don't forgive him!" said the Colonel, shortly.

"Sir," said Faith, "Colonel Rye, this is not what Mr. Linden would wish. Endecott will tell you, sir, that he has passed it by. Don't undo what he has done! No true friend of Mr. Linden will make any more of this."

"I am willing to answer it to anybody," said Middleton, gruffly, but as if half ashamed of himself.

"There is nothing to answer to any one," said Faith, quitting the Colonel, and turning to him; her face was so white and gentle that it smote him, and those very steady sweet eyes had a power in them just now that broke his doggedness. "There is nothing to answer to any one, unless Mr. Middleton," (how soft her voice was), "unless you find you were wrong, and choose to tell Mr. Linden, which I dare say you will. Colonel Rye, will you see, for Mr. Linden's honour, that this goes to no harm?"—The extreme gentleness and the steady firmness of Faith ruled them all; and at her last appeal the Colonel's only answer was to take her in his arms and kiss her, an acknowledgment Faith would willingly have gone without. But it was good for a promise.

"Mr. Alcott," she said seeking him in the group, "you said we would go down the bank—." Faith did not finish her sentence, but he saw her wish to finish it by action.

She went with him till they were out of sight and away from everybody; then slipped her arm from his and begging him not to wait for her sat down on the grass. For a while she sat very still, whether her heart was fuller of petition or thanksgiving she hardly knew. She would have rejoined Mr. Alcott much sooner if she had guessed he was waiting for her—like an outpost among the trees; but all the time had not brought back Faith's colour. After a while, other steps came swiftly over the turf as she sat there, and before she had raised her head it was lifted up for her.

"My precious wife! what are you doing here?" Very low the tones were, very grave, very tender.

Faith sprang, and after an exploring glance into his face, knelt on the grass beside him and threw her arms round his neck, pressing her cheek very close as if she would take off or share the affront that had been offered to his. That for a minute—and then changing characters—she raised her head and pushing the hair back from his brow with her soft hurried fingers, she covered that and his face with kisses—with a kind of eager tenderness that could not say enough nor put enough love and reverence into every touch. All this while she was still; she did not shed tears at all, as some women would have done; and she said not one word.

Perhaps surprise made him passive: perhaps the soothing of her caresses was too sweet and too much needed to be interrupted, even by a return. He let her have her way, nor even raised his eyes. One arm indeed was round her, but it left her free to do what she liked. If Faith needed any light on what the morning's work had been, it was furnished by those few minutes. Only at last, with a sudden motion Mr. Linden brought her lips to his, and gave her back principal and interest.