The words had slipped out quite unintentionally, and she blushed quickly. She would have given anything to be able to recall them; but he had heard, and said, ‘Who?’
Anne went forward to the miller to avoid replying, and Festus caught her no more.
‘Has anybody been hanging about Overcombe Mill except Loveday’s son the soldier?’ he asked of a comrade.
‘His son the sailor,’ was the reply.
‘O—his son the sailor,’ said Festus slowly. ‘Damn his son the sailor!’
XXII. THE TWO HOUSEHOLDS UNITED
At this particular moment the object of Festus Derriman’s fulmination was assuredly not dangerous as a rival. Bob, after abstractedly watching the soldiers from the front of the house till they were out of sight, had gone within doors and seated himself in the mill-parlour, where his father found him, his elbows resting on the table and his forehead on his hands, his eyes being fixed upon a document that lay open before him.
‘What art perusing, Bob, with such a long face?’
Bob sighed, and then Mrs. Loveday and Anne entered. ‘’Tis only a state-paper that I fondly thought I should have a use for,’ he said gloomily. And, looking down as before, he cleared his voice, as if moved inwardly to go on, and began to read in feeling tones from what proved to be his nullified marriage licence:—
‘“Timothy Titus Philemon, by permission Bishop of Bristol: To our well-beloved Robert Loveday, of the parish of Overcombe, Bachelor; and Matilda Johnson, of the same parish, Spinster. Greeting.”’