“I hope you may be very happy, with—­I mean in your new life,” she whispered very softly; “as happy as you deserve to be, and as happy as you can make others be.  Now how I have been neglecting you!  I am quite ashamed of myself for thinking only of grandfather:  and it makes me so low-spirited.  You have told me a very nice romance, and I have never even helped you to a glass of wine.  Here, pour it for yourself, dear cousin; I shall be back again directly.”

With that she was out of the door in a moment; and when she came back, you would not have thought that a tear had dimmed those large bright eyes, or wandered down those pale clear cheeks.  Only her hands were cold and trembling:  and she made me help myself.

Uncle Reuben did not appear at all; and Ruth, who had promised to come and see us, and stay for a fortnight at our house (if her grandfather could spare her), now discovered, before I left, that she must not think of doing so.  Perhaps she was right in deciding thus; at any rate it had now become improper for me to press her.  And yet I now desired tenfold that she should consent to come, thinking that Lorna herself would work the speediest cure of her passing whim.

For such, I tried to persuade myself, was the nature of Ruth’s regard for me:  and upon looking back I could not charge myself with any misconduct towards the little maiden.  I had never sought her company, I had never trifled with her (at least until that very day), and being so engrossed with my own love, I had scarcely ever thought of her.  And the maiden would never have thought of me, except as a clumsy yokel, but for my mother’s and sister’s meddling, and their wily suggestions.  I believe they had told the little soul that I was deeply in love with her; although they both stoutly denied it.  But who can place trust in a woman’s word, when it comes to a question of match-making?

[Illustration:  454.jpg Tailpiece]

CHAPTER LI

A VISIT FROM THE COUNSELLOR

[Illustration:  455.jpg Counsellor]

Now while I was riding home that evening, with a tender conscience about Ruth, although not a wounded one, I guessed but little that all my thoughts were needed much for my own affairs.  So however it proved to be; for as I came in, soon after dark, my sister Eliza met me at the corner of the cheese-room, and she said, “Don’t go in there, John,” pointing to mother’s room; “until I have had a talk with you.”

“In the name of Moses,” I inquired, having picked up that phrase at Dulverton; “what are you at about me now?  There is no peace for a quiet fellow.”

“It is nothing we are at,” she answered; “neither may you make light of it.  It is something very important about Mistress Lorna Doone.”

“Let us have it at once,” I cried; “I can bear anything about Lorna, except that she does not care for me.”