“Th’ old farmer thinks I’ve got millions, my dear.  You can’t satisfy him.  He...  I don’t want t’ see him in the morning.  He thinks I’ve got millions.  His mouth’ll go down.  I don’t want...  You don’t want him to look...  And I can’t count now; I can’t count a bit.  And every post I see ’s a policeman.  I ain’t hiding.  Let ’em take the old man.  And he was a faithful servant, till one day he got up on a regular whirly-go-round, and ever since...such a little boy!  I’m frightened o’ you, Rhoda.”

“I will do everything for you,” said Rhoda, crying wretchedly.

“Because, the young squire says,” Anthony made his voice mysterious.

“Yes, yes,” Rhoda stopped him; “and I consent:”  she gave a hurried half-glance behind her.  “Come, uncle.  Oh! pity! don’t let me think your reason’s gone.  I can get you the money, but if you go foolish, I cannot help you.”

Her energy had returned to her with the sense of sacrifice.  Anthony eyed her tears.  “We’ve sat on a bank and cried together, haven’t we?” he said.  “And counted ants, we have.  Shall we sit in the sun together to-morrow?  Say, we shall.  Shall we?  A good long day in the sun and nobody looking at me ’s my pleasure.”

Rhoda gave him the assurance, and he turned and went upstairs with her, docile at the prospect of hours to be passed in the sunlight.

Yet, when morning came, he had disappeared.  Robert also was absent from the breakfast-table.  The farmer made no remarks, save that he reckoned Master Gammon was right—­in allusion to the veteran’s somnolent observation overnight; and strange things were acted before his eyes.

There came by the morning delivery of letters one addressed to “Miss Fleming.”  He beheld his daughters rise, put their hands out, and claim it, in a breath; and they gazed upon one another like the two women demanding the babe from the justice of the Wise King.  The letter was placed in Rhoda’s hand; Dahlia laid hers on it.  Their mouths were shut; any one not looking at them would have been unaware that a supreme conflict was going on in the room.  It was a strenuous wrestle of their eyeballs, like the “give way” of athletes pausing.  But the delirious beat down the constitutional strength.  A hard bright smile ridged the hollow of Dahlia’s cheeks.  Rhoda’s dark eyes shut; she let go her hold, and Dahlia thrust the letter in against her bosom, snatched it out again, and dipped her face to roses in a jug, and kissing Mrs. Sumfit, ran from the room for a single minute; after which she came back smiling with gravely joyful eyes and showing a sedate readiness to eat and conclude the morning meal.

What did this mean?  The farmer could have made allowance for Rhoda’s behaving so, seeing that she notoriously possessed intellect; and he had the habit of charging all freaks and vagaries of manner upon intellect.