“It is a fine night for a gallop,” I repeated.
“There they are. We must keep them out of the fort, Wade. If you love me, detain the old man in talk for half an hour.”
“Certainly; half a century, if it will do any good.”
Mr. Clitheroe and his daughter were walking slowly toward the fort. He appealed to us as we approached.
“I am urging my daughter to join in the amusements of the evening,” said he. “You know, my dear, that many of our old Lancashire neighbors still would be pleased to see you a lady patroness of their innocent sports, and lending your countenance to their healthy hilarity. A little gayety will do you good, I am sure. This ball may not be elegant; but it will be cheerful, and of course conducted with great propriety, since Brother Sizzum is present. I am afraid he will miss us, and be offended. That must not be, Ellen dear. We must not offend Brother Sizzum in any way whatever. We must consider that his wishes are sovereign; for is he not the chosen apostle?”
Brent and I could both have wept to hear this crazy, senile stuff.
“Pray, father dear,” said Miss Clitheroe, “do not insist upon it. We shall both be wearied out, if we are up late after our day’s march.”
It was clearly out of tenderness to him that she avoided the real objections she must have to such a scene.
“It is quite too noisy and dusty for Miss Clitheroe in the fort,” said I, and I took his arm. “Come, sir, let us walk about and have a chat in the open air.”
I led him off, poor old gentleman, facile under my resolute control. All he had long ago needed was a firm man friend to take him in hand and be his despot; but the weaker he was, the less he could be subject to his daughter. It is the feeble, unmasculine men who fight most petulantly against the influence and power of women.