e: I did not know one. I shut my eyes, and prayed to be
directed, and chose Hillford. In the train I was full of music in a
moment. There I met farmer Wilson, of the farm near us--where your
sisters found me; and he was kind, and asked me about myself; and I
mentioned lodgings, and that I longed for woods and meadows. Just as we
were getting out of the train, he said I was to come with him; and I did,
very gladly. Then I met you; and I am here. All because I prayed to be
directed--I do think that!"

Emilia clasped her hands, and looked pensively at the horizon sky, with a
face of calm gratefulness.

The cornet was on his legs. "So!" he said. "And you never saw anything
more of that fellow you kissed in the park?"

"Kissed?--that gentleman?" returned Emilia. "I have not kissed him. He
did not want it. Men kiss us when we are happy, and we kiss them when
they are unhappy."

Wilfrid was perhaps incompetent to test the truth of this profound
aphoristic remark, delivered with the simplicity of natural conviction.
The narrative had, to his thinking, quite released from him his temporary
subjection to this little lady's sway. All that he felt for her
personally now was pity. It speaks something for the strength of the
sentiment with which he had first conceived her, that it was not pelted
to death, and turned to infinite disgust, by her potatoes. For sentiment
is a dainty, delicate thing, incapable of bearing much: revengeful, too,
when it is outraged. Bruised and disfigured, it stood up still, and
fought against them. They were very fine ones, as Emilia said, and they
hit him hard. However, he pitied her, and that protected him like a
shield. He told his sisters a tale of his own concerning the strange
damsel, humorously enough to make them see that he enjoyed her presence
as that of no common oddity.

CHAPTER VII

While Emilia was giving Wilfrid her history in the garden, the ladies of
Brookfield were holding consultation over a matter which was well
calculated to perplex and irritate them excessively. Mr. Pole had
received a curious short epistle from Mrs. Chump, informing him of the
atrocious treatment she had met with at the hands of his daughter; and
instead of reviewing the orthography, incoherence, and deliberate
vulgarity of the said piece of writing with the contempt it deserved, he
had taken the unwonted course of telling Arabella that she had done a
thing she must necessarily repent of, or in any case