mise. It's
incomprehensible; but never mind. Write that first. Then to the man. Say
that your friend--by the way, this Mrs. Lovell has small hands, has she?
I mean, peculiarly small? Did you notice, or not? I may know her. Never
mind. Write to the man. Say--don't write down my name--say that I will
meet him." Percy spoke on as in a dream. "Appoint any place and hour.
To-morrow at ten, down by the river--the bridge. Write briefly. Thank
him for his offer to afford you explanations. Don't argue it with me any
more. Write both the letters straight off."

His back was to Robert as he uttered the injunction. Robert took pen and
paper, and did as he was bidden, with all the punctilious obedience of a
man who consents perforce to see a better scheme abandoned.

One effect of the equality existing between these two of diverse rank in
life and perfect delicacy of heart, was, that the moment Percy assumed
the lead, Robert never disputed it. Muttering simply that he was
incapable of writing except when he was in a passion, he managed to
produce what, in Percy's eyes, were satisfactory epistles, though Robert
had horrible misgivings in regard to his letter to Mrs. Lovell--the
wording of it, the cast of the sentences, even down to the character of
the handwriting. These missives were despatched immediately.

"You are sure she said that?" Major Waring inquired more than once
during the afternoon, and Robert assured him that Mrs. Lovell had given
him her word. He grew very positive, and put it on his honour that she
had said it.

"You may have heard incorrectly."

"I've got the words burning inside me," said Robert.

They walked together, before dark, to Sutton Farm, but Jonathan Eccles
was abroad in his fields, and their welcome was from Mistress Anne, whom
Major Waring had not power to melt; the moment he began speaking praise
of Robert, she closed her mouth tight and crossed her wrists meekly.

"I see," said Major Waring, as they left the farm, "your aunt is of the
godly who have no forgiveness."

"I'm afraid so," cried Robert. "Cold blood never will come to an
understanding with hot blood, and the old lady's is like frozen milk.
She's right in her way, I dare say. I don't blame her. Her piety's right
enough, take it as you find it."

Mrs. Boulby had a sagacious notion that gentlemen always dined well
every day of their lives, and claimed that much from Providence as their
due. She had exerted herself to spread a neat lit