“She is a dear good girl; I do hope it will be for her happiness—-for both.”

“Thank you,” he said fervently.  “It will be the most earnest desire of my life.”

Geraldine thought it best to go in quest of Francie, whom she found with Anna, incoherent and happy in the glory of the certainty that she was loved, after the long trial of suppressed, unacknowledged suspense.  No fears of parents, no thought of inequalities had occurred to trouble her—-everything was absorbed in the one thought—- “he really did love her.”  How should she thank God enough, or pray enough to be worthy of such joy?  There was no room for vexation or wonder at the delay, nor the attentions paid to Maura.  She hushed Anna, who was inclined to be indignant, and who was obliged afterwards to pour out to her aunt all her wonder, though she allowed that on his side there was nothing to be really called flirtation, it was all Maura—-"she was sure Maura was at the bottom of it.”

“My dear, don’t let us be uncharitable; there is no need to think about it.  Let us try to be like Francie, and swallow all up in gladness.  Your mother-—”

“Oh, I can’t think what she will do for joy.  It will almost make her well again.”

“But remember, we don’t know what his parents will say.”

And with that sobering thought they had to go down to luncheon, where Francie sat blushing and entranced, too happy to speak, and Ivinghoe apparently contented to look at her.  Afterwards he was allowed to take possession of her for the afternoon, so as to be able to tease her about what she was dreaming about him.  After all it had probably been evoked by the dog’s bark and his step; for she had thought a wolf was pursuing her, and that he had come to save her.  It was quite enough to be food for a lover.

Clement would have wished to keep all to themselves, at least till the paternal visit was over, but Ivinghoe’s days were few, and he made sure of bringing his parents on the morrow.  An expedition had been arranged to the valley where some of the Benista family were reported to live, since the snows had departed enough for safety; but this must needs be deferred, and there was no doubt that the “reason why” would be sought out.

Indeed, so close was the great house, and so minute a watch was kept, that the fact of Lord Ivinghoe’s spending the whole day at the parsonage was known, and conclusions were arrived at.  Maura stole down in the late evening among the olive trees, ostensibly to ask Anna and Francie to come and listen to the nightingales.

But thereby she was witness to a scene that showed that there was another nightingale for Franceska than the one who was singing with such energy among the olive boughs.  In fact, she saw the evening farewell, and had not the discretion, like Anna, to withdraw herself and her eyes, but beheld, what had ever been sacred to both those young things, the first kiss.