But, uncle, she cried, excitedly.
Go home, my lass, he said, imperatively.
Yes, dear, she half sobbed; but you will not
I say go home! he shouted; and, with a low wail, she turned off, and walked hurriedly towards the farm, her uncle standing watching her, while Cyril Mallow coolly took a cigar-case from his breast pocket, opened it, carefully selected a cigar, picking, choosing, and returning one after the other till he had found one to his fancy, when he snapped to the case once more and thrust it back in his pocket, afterwards biting off the cigar-end and proceeding to light it with a fusee that evinced a strong dislike to burst into sparks and then smoulder away.
As he did this, however, he kept glancing furtively at the Churchwarden, who was watching the retiring form of Sage, her troubled mien winning a glance or two from Cyril as well.
The cigar burned badly, and had to be lit again, this time being watched by the Churchwarden with a kind of good-humoured contempt for the man who could smoke those rolls of tobacco-leaf in place of an honest pipe.
At last the cigar drew freely, and the eyes of the two men met.
Im in for another row now, said Cyril, to himself. Awkward; very. Never mind; I dont care.
Now, young man, said Portlock, at last, in a very short, blunt fashion, it seems to me that you and I had better have a few words together of a sort.
When and where you please, said Cyril, carelessly.
Lets walk along here, then, said the Churchwarden, pointing down the lane with his thistle staff.
Away from the farm, eh? thought Cyril. All right, old friend. Then aloud, Whichever way you please, sir.
I didnt know things had gone so far as this, continued the Churchwarden, leading the way. People say that you are the idlest chap in these parts; but it seems to me that, with the work thou likest, thou canst be as busy as the best.
Cyril flushed a little, and bit
his chance against me is about the value of nil .
Part 1, Chapter XXVII. After a Pipe
Why, heyday! Sage she began.
Dont stop me, aunt, cried Sage, excitedly; and, running up-stairs, she shut herself in the room, threw herself upon her knees by her bed, and covered her face with her hands, sobbing as if her heart would break.
Shes been having a quarrel with him, said Mrs Portlock to herself, or she wouldnt take on like that: They must be getting on then, or they wouldnt quarrel.
Mrs Portlock paused here to go and scold one of the maids for picking out all the big lumps of coal and leaving the small, but she came back into the kitchen to think about her niece.
Hes a deal better than Luke Ross, she said to herself, for Lukes only a tradesman after all. Theres no mistake about it, he means our Sage; and where, I should like to know, would he find a better girl?
There was a pause here, during which Mrs Portlock indulged in a few retrospects concerning Rue, and the time when she was in such trouble about Frank.
But Cyril is a better disposed young man than his brother, I am sure, she said, half aloud. He is his mothers favourite too. I wonder what Mrs Mallow will say!
Mrs Portlock said this aloud, and then stopped short, alarmed at her own words, for she called up the face of the calm, dignified Rector entering the place, looking at her reproachfully, and ready to blame her for her assumption in encouraging his sons visits.
Oh, my gracious! she ejaculated, half in horror, for her imagination for the time began to run riot, and she saw that, even if Cyril Mallow was very fond of Sage, and even if Sage returned his love, matters would not run quite so smoothly as she had anticipated.
Im sure shes as good as he, she exclaimed, by way of indignant protest to the accusations of her conscience; but, all the same, she was now brought face to face with the consequences of her tacit encouragement of Cyril Mallows visits.
And Im sure were as well off as they are, she added, after a pause. But, all the same, her conscience would not be quieted, and Mrs Portlock was on the point of going up to her nieces room, when, with a fresh qualm of dread, though she hardly knew why, she saw her husband come striding up toward the house.
Meanwhile Sages breast was racked by conflicting emotions, chief amongst which was that suggested by a self-accusation from her wounded heart; and she knelt there, sobbing and praying for help, feeling that she was intensely wicked, and that the hopeless misery of her case was greater than she could bear.
Her mind was in a chaos, and she shuddered as she clung to the coverlet, and dragged it over her drawn and excited face, as one moment it was the stern, reproachful figure of Luke Ross asking her if this was her faith this the meaning of her tender, loving letters this the reward of his chivalrous determination to give up everything to the one idea of making himself a worthy suitor with her relatives; the next it was Cyril, gazing at her with despairing eyes, which seemed to say that if she cast him off he should drift recklessly through the world, and come to some bad end; while, did she bless him with her love, he would become a worthy member of society, a happy man, and one of whom she could feel so proud.