“As if I care for what he says.”

“I wouldn’t show her that, if I was you,” said Jael, quietly, but with a good deal of weight.

“You are right,” said Henry.  “You are a good girl.  I don’t know which is the best, you or Martha.  I say, I promised to go to Cairnhope some Sunday, and see them all.  Shall I drive you over?”

“And bring me back at night?”

“If you like.  I must come back.”

“I’ll ask Miss Carden.”

The words were quiet and composed, but the blushing face beamed with unreasonable happiness; and Grace, who entered at that moment with her father, was quite struck with its eloquence; she half started, but took no further notice just then.  “There, papa,” said she, “this is Mr. Little.”

Mr. Carden was a tall gentleman, with somewhat iron features, but a fine head of gray hair; rather an imposing personage; not the least pompous though; quite a man of the world, and took a business view of everything, matrimony, of course, included.

“Oh, this is Mr. Little, is it, whose work we all admire so much?”

“Yes, papa.”

“And whose adventure has made so much noise?”

“Yes, papa.”

“By-the-bye, there is an article to-day on you:  have you seen it?  No?  But you should see it; it is very smart.  My dear” (to Jael), “will you go to my study, and bring the Liberal here?”

“Yes, but meantime, I want you to advise him not to subject himself to more gunpowder and things, but to leave the town; that is all the wretches demand.”

“And that,” said Henry, with a sly, deferential tone, “is a good deal to demand in a free country, is it not, sir?”

“Indeed it is.  Ah, here comes the Liberal.  Somebody read the article to us, while he works.  I want to see how he does it.”

Curiosity overpowered Grace’s impatience, for a moment, and she read the notice out with undisguised interest.

“’The last outrage.

“’In our first remarks upon this matter, we merely laid down an alternative which admits of no dispute; and, abstaining from idle conjectures, undertook to collect evidence.  We have now had an interview with the victim of that abominable outrage.  Mr.——­ is one of those superior workmen who embellish that class for a few years, but invariably rise above it, and leave it’ (there—­Mr. Little!)—­’He has informed us that he is a stranger in Hillsborough, lives retired, never sits down in a public-house, and has not a single enemy in Hillsborough, great or small.  He says that his life was saved by his fellow-workmen, and that as he lay scorched—­’(Oh, dear!’)

“Well, go on, Grace.”

“It is all very well to say go on, papa—­’scorched and bleeding on the ground and unable to distinguish faces’ (poor, poor Mr. Little!) ’he heard, on all sides of him, expressions of rugged sympathy and sobs, and tears, from rough, but—­manly fellows, who—­’(oh! oh! oh!”)