The younger went to bed sick of himself.  His instincts of right and honour fought with his desires to be free.  His heart sank now at the prospect of matrimony.  He assured himself that he loved Sabina as steadfastly as ever he had loved her; but that there might yet be a shared life of happiness for them without the matrimonial chains.  He considered whether it would be possible to influence Sabina in that direction; he even went so far as to speculate on what would be his future feelings for her if she insisted upon the sanctity of his promises.

CHAPTER XVII

CONFUSION

Mr. Churchouse was standing in his porch, when a postman brought him a parcel.  It was a book, and Ernest displayed mild interest.

“What should that be, I wonder?” he said.  Then he asked a question.

“Have you seen Bert, the newspaper boy?  For the second morning he disappoints me.”

But Bert himself appeared at the same moment and the postman went his way.

“No newspaper on Saturday—­how was that?” asked Mr. Churchouse.

“I was dreadful ill and my mother wouldn’t let me go outdoors,” explained the boy.  “I asked Neddy Prichard to go down to the baker’s and get it for you; but he wouldn’t.”

“Then I say no more, except to hope you’re better.”

“It’s my froat,” explained Bert, a sturdy, flaxen youngster of ten.

“One more point I should like to raise while you are here.  Have you noticed that garden chair in the porch?”

“Yes, I have, and wondered why ’twas left there.”

“Wonder no more, Bert.  It is there that you may put the paper upon it, rather than fling the news on a dirty door-mat.”

“Fancy!” said Bert.  “I never!”

“Bear it in mind henceforth, and, if you will delay a moment, I will give you some black currant lozenges for your throat.”

A big black cat stood by his master listening to this conversation and Bert now referred to him.

“Would thicky cat sclow me?” he asked.

“No, Bert—­have no fear of Peter Grim,” answered Mr. Churchouse.  “His looks belie him.  He has a forbidding face but a friendly heart.”

“He looks cruel fierce.”

“He does, but though a great sportsman, he has a most amiable nature.”

Having ministered to Bert, Mr. Churchouse retired with his book and paper.  Then came Mary Dinnett, red-eyed and in some agitation.  But for a moment he did not observe her trouble.  He had opened his parcel and revealed a volume bound in withered calf and bearing signs of age and harsh treatment.

“A work I have long coveted—­it is again ‘a well-wisher,’ Missis Dinnett, who has sent it to me.  There is much kindness in the world still.”