“We have ridden far,” said the younger stranger, breaking the silence which ensued when they had taken seats, and turning his eye again on Lucy, as though he hoped to elicit a reply to his remark.
He was not disappointed. “May I ask,” said she, “what distance you have come?”
“We left Massachusetts a couple of days ago,” he replied, “and have been at hard riding ever since.”
“You spoke of business, gentlemen,” remarked the governor, rather impatiently; “will you be so good as to proceed with the object of your visit?”
“I address Governor H., sir, I presume?” said the ill-looking stranger, speaking for the first time.
He signified ascent.
“Our business is official and private,” continued the speaker, in a voice harsh and unpleasant, looking around uneasily at the spectators.
“All affairs with me are conducted in the presence of my family,” said the governor drily.
“It is imperative, sir, that we see you alone,” urged the other, in a dictatorial tone.
“Will you look whether there is a good fire in your little sanctum?” said her uncle to Lucy, giving her at the same time a significant glance, and having referred in his remark to a small room adjoining, where Lucy not unfrequently repaired, surrounded by numbers of the village children—with whom she was a general favorite—to dress their dolls, cover their balls, and perform other similar acts. Here, too, she retired for the purpose of reading, writing, and other occasions of privacy. More than all, it was the spot sacred to an hour’s conversation with Mr. Elmore apart from the rest of the family during his visits.