‘No; that’s true. But you see, Mr Monk, it’s not much out of my way. And,’ he added, ‘besides, I thought you would like to know that she’s well. You’re so busy here, that perhaps you don’t see so much of her as you would like, and so I thought that news of her at any time would be welcome.’
‘So it is, Walter!’ said the old man, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke—‘so it is. She’s a good girl, and I love her dearly. But you don’t pass that way, Walter, simply to bring me a word about my grand-daughter. You’re not going to try and make me believe that, surely?’
‘Not entirely, Mr Monk,’ said the young man, smiling. ‘I won’t deny that it’s a very great pleasure to me to see Rachel at any time; indeed, no one could admire her more than I do.’
The old man held out his hand. ‘Come, come! That’s more candid, my boy,’ said he, as Walter took the hand in his and pressed it affectionately. ‘So you admire Rachel, do you?’
‘Mr Monk,’ said the young clerk, ‘I more than admire her—I love her!’
The deep lines in Silas Monk’s face grew deeper at these words. ‘Well, well,’ said the old man presently, with a heavy sigh; ‘it was to be. Better now, perhaps, than later—better now. But you won’t take her from me yet, Walter—not yet?’
‘Why, no, Mr Monk; I’d no thought of taking her away from you.’
‘That’s right!’ cried Silas—‘that’s right! You’re a good lad. Take care of her, Walter; take care of her when I am dead.’ As Silas pronounced the last word, the sound of footsteps, which seemed strangely near, changed the expression on his face. ‘What’s that?’ asked he in a tone of alarm.
Walter listened. ‘Some one on the scaffolding above your window.’
‘If it’s a workman,’ said the old man, ‘he’s rather late. Will you see that every one has left the premises; and then shut the front-door as you go out?’