e, if I don't go away from you altogether. Not as I mean you'd
think me a burden--I know you wouldn't--but it 'ud be hard upon you;
and when I look for'ard to that, I like to think as you'd have somebody
else besides me--somebody young and strong, as'll outlast your own
life, and take care on you to the end." Silas paused, and, resting his
wrists on his knees, lifted his hands up and down meditatively as he
looked on the ground.

"Then, would you like me to be married, father?" said Eppie, with a
little trembling in her voice.

"I'll not be the man to say no, Eppie," said Silas, emphatically; "but
we'll ask your godmother. She'll wish the right thing by you and her
son too."

"There they come, then," said Eppie. "Let us go and meet 'em. Oh, the
pipe! won't you have it lit again, father?" said Eppie, lifting that
medicinal appliance from the ground.

"Nay, child," said Silas, "I've done enough for to-day. I think,
mayhap, a little of it does me more good than so much at once."

CHAPTER XVII

While Silas and Eppie were seated on the bank discoursing in the
fleckered shade of the ash tree, Miss Priscilla Lammeter was resisting
her sister's arguments, that it would be better to take tea at the Red
House, and let her father have a long nap, than drive home to the
Warrens so soon after dinner. The family party (of four only) were
seated round the table in the dark wainscoted parlour, with the Sunday
dessert before them, of fresh filberts, apples, and pears, duly
ornamented with leaves by Nancy's own hand before the bells had rung
for church.

A great change has come over the dark wainscoted parlour since we saw
it in Godfrey's bachelor days, and under the wifeless reign of the old
Squire. Now all is polish, on which no yesterday's dust is ever
allowed to rest, from the yard's width of oaken boards round the
carpet, to the old Squire's gun and whips and walking-sticks, ranged on
the stag's antlers above the mantelpiece. All other signs of sporting
and outdoor occupation Nancy has removed to another room; but she has
brought into the Red House the habit of filial reverence, and preserves
sacredly in a place of honour these relics of her husband's departed
father. The tankards are on the side-table still, but the bossed
silver is undimmed by handling, and there are no dregs to send forth
unpleasant suggestions: the only prevailing scent is of the lavender
and rose-leaves that fill the vases of Derbyshire