“Can I see her to-morrow?”
“The lass has been much shaken, cousin; she kept her bed this morning.”
Richard, looking a fine and honest fellow with his eyes bright in his flushed face, held out his hands to his cousin.
“Be my friend, Lot,” he said, “and persuade Jilian to let me see her. I am a man of honor, sir, and your sister is a saint. Say I will ride over to-morrow in the hope that she will see me.”
Mr. Lot studied his cousin keenly and smiled. The lad was honest and generous enough; there would be no need of bullying.
“Egad, Richard,” he exclaimed, “you are a fine fellow, sir, and Lot Hardacre is with you. Poor Jill has a tender heart, cousin. I’ll try to get her to see you; I will. Sir Peter, too, is in a swearing rage, Richard, but I’ll get old Stott over and have the governor bled.”
Richard, with tears in his eyes, gripped his cousin’s hand.
“Thank you, Lot,” he said—“thank you. You are a friend in need—by Heaven, you are! As for my aunt, she shall leave Rodenham at once.”
Mr. Hardacre clapped Jeffray on the shoulder.
“That’s the tune, my buck,” he said, heartily; “be the master in your own house, Richard, and don’t be grandmothered by any old woman. Why, she would quarrel with you if you were for marrying St. Agnes, by gad, she would. Have it out with her, cousin; she’s been treating you like a foot-boy. I wouldn’t stand it, sir; I wouldn’t.”