The old dame withdrew, sulky and grumbling, and evidently inclined to remain within ear-shot, lest she should deem it necessary to interfere. Judith preceded Master Blaise to the door of the cottage, and asked the little maid to bring out a couple of chairs. As she sat down he could not but observe how wan and worn her face was, and how listless she was in manner; but he made no comment on that; he only remarked that her grandmother seemed in no friendly mood this morning, and that only the fact that his mission was known to Susan and her mother had caused him to persist.
It was clear that this untoward reception had disconcerted him somewhat; and it was some little time before he could recover that air of mild authority with which he was accustomed to convey his counsels. At first he confined himself to telling Judith what he had done on behalf of her mother and Susan, in obedience to their wishes; but by and by he came to herself and her own situation; and he hoped that this experience through which she had passed, though it might have caused her bitter distress for the time, would eventually make for good. If the past could not be recalled, at least the future might be made safe. Indeed one or two phrases he had used sounded as if they had done some previous service, perhaps he had consulted with Mistress Hall ere making this appeal—but in any case Judith was not listening so particularly as to think of that—she seemed to know beforehand what he had to say.
To tell the truth, he was himself a little surprised at her tacit acquiescence. He had always had to argue with Judith, and many a time he had found that her subtle feminine wit was capable of extricating herself from what he considered a defenceless position. But now she sat almost silent. She seemed to agree to everything. There was not a trace left of the old audacious self-reliance, nor yet of those saucy rejoinders which were only veiled by her professed respect for his cloth—she was at his mercy.
And so, growing bolder, he put in his own personal claim. He said little that he had not said or hinted on previous occasions; but now all the circumstances were changed; this heavy misfortune that had befallen her was but another and all too cogent reason why she should accept his offer of shelter and aid and counsel, seeing into what pitfalls her own unguided steps were like to lead her.
"I speak the words of truth and soberness," said he, as he sat and calmly regarded her downcast face, "and make no appeal to the foolish fancies of a young and giddy-headed girl—for that you are no longer, Judith. The years are going by. There must come a time in life when the enjoyment of the passing moment is not all in all—when one must look to the future, and make provision for sickness and old age. Death strikes here and there; friends fall away. What a sad thing it were to find one's self alone, the dark clouds of life thickening over, and none by to help and cheer. Then your mother and sister, Judith——"
"Yes, I know," she said, almost in despair—"I know 'twould please them."
And then she reflected that this was scarcely the manner in which she should receive his offer, that was put before her so plainly and with so much calm sincerity.
"I pray you, good sir," said she, in a kind of languid way, "forgive me if I answer you not as frankly as might be. I have been ill; my head aches now; perchance I have not followed all you said. But I understand it—I understand it—and in all you say there is naught but good intention."
"Then it is yes, Judith?" he exclaimed; and for the first time there was a little brightness of ardor—almost of triumph—in this clearly conceived and argued wooing.
"It would please my mother and sister," she repeated, slowly. "They are afraid of some story coming from London about—about—what is passed. This would be an answer, would it not?"