Anne, with the thought of her Charles burning within her heart, was a little scandalised at the course of affairs.  Sir Edmund was a highly worthy man, but not in his first youth, and ponderous—­a Whig, moreover, and an intimate friend of the masterful governor of the island, Lord Cutts, called the “Salamander.”  He had seen Miss Archfield before at the winter and spring Quarter Sessions, and though her father was no longer in the Commission of the Peace, the residence at Winchester gave him opportunities, and the chief obstacle seemed to be the party question.  He was more in love than was the lady, but she was submissive, and believed that he would be a kind husband.  She saw, too, that her parents would be much disappointed and displeased if she made any resistance to so prosperous a settlement, and she was positively glad to be out of reach of Sedley’s addresses.  Such an entirely unenthusiastic acceptance was the proper thing, and it only remained to provide for Lady Archfield’s comfort in the loss of her daughter.

For this the elders turned at once to Anne Woodford.  Sir Philip made it his urgent entreaty that the Doctor and his niece would take up their abode with him, and that Anne would share with the grandmother the care of the young Philip, a spirited little fellow who would soon be running wild with the grooms, without the attention that his aunt had bestowed on him.

Dr. Woodford himself was much inclined to accept the office of chaplain to his old friend, who he knew would be far happier for his company; and Anne’s heart bounded at the thought of bringing up Charles’s child, but that very start of joy made her blush and hesitate, and finally surprise the two old gentlemen by saying, with crimson cheeks—­

“Sir, your Honour ought to know what might make you change your mind.  There have been passages between Mr. Archfield and me.”

Sir Philip laughed.  “Ah, the rogue!  You were always little sweethearts as children.  Why, Anne, you should know better than to heed what a young soldier says.”

“No doubt you have other views for your son,” said Dr. Woodford, “and I trust that my niece has too much discretion and sense of propriety to think that they can be interfered with on her account.”

“Passages!” repeated Sir Philip thoughtfully.  “Mistress Anne, how much do you mean by that?  Surely there is no promise between you?”

“No, sir,” said Anne; “I would not give any; but when we parted in Flanders he asked me to—­to wait for him, and I feel that you ought to know it.”

“Oh, I understand!” said the baronet.  “It was only natural to an old friend in a foreign land, and you have too much sense to dwell on a young man’s folly, though it was an honourable scruple that made you tell me, my dear maid.  But he is not come or coming yet, more’s the pity, so there is no need to think about it at present.”

Anne’s cheeks did not look as if she had attained that wisdom; but her conscience was clear, since she had told the fact, and the father did not choose to take it seriously.  To say how she herself loved Charles would have been undignified and nothing to the purpose, since her feelings were not what would be regarded, and there was no need to mention her full and entire purpose to wed no one else.  Time enough for that if the proposal were made.