"Mr. Walden, allow me to introduce my daughter," said Mrs. Newville.
There was a startled, wondering look in the hazel eyes. She courtesied, with the fresh blood suffusing her cheeks.
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Walden," she said.
"I took the liberty of bringing him," said Berinthia. "I was sure you would extend to him the same cordial welcome you give to everybody."
"Certainly, anybody whom you may invite will always be welcome. Mr. Walden, shall I serve you with a cup of tea? What kind will you take--shall it be Old Hyson, Bohea, or Twankey?"
She stood with a salver ready to serve him.
"I will take Old Hyson, if you please," he said.
The pink slippers tripped across the lawn to a table where Phillis in white apron and cap, with smiling countenance, was pouring tea from silver urns into dainty cups. So this was the young lady whom he had rescued from the clutches of the villains. What should he say to her? By no word or look must she know that he was conscious of having befriended her.
The sun was shining through the branches of the melocotoon tree beneath which she was standing. It seemed to him that the rich bloom of the ripening fruit by some subtle process of nature was being transmuted to her face. He recalled the description of the pure-hearted damsel that welcomed the Pilgrim of Bunyan's allegory to the beautiful palace in the land of Beulah. She soon returned bringing with steady hand the salver with the tea, sugar-bowl, and pitcher of cream.
"Shall I serve you with the sugar and cream, Mr. Walden?"
He could but notice the graceful movement of her deft fingers as she picked the sugar from the bowl with the silver tongs, and poured the cream.
"I will bring you some confections," she said, and tripped away once more, returning with a plate of cake and bonbons.
"I hope you find the tea to your taste?" she said.
He could see she was scanning his face with an inquiring look, as if endeavoring to solve a perplexing question--whether the stranger in working clothes who rescued her from the arms of the assaulting soldiers and this gentleman in fitting costume for genteel society were one and the same. "Can it be he?" was the question revolving in her thoughts. The countryman was tall, stout, and broad-shouldered; so was Mr. Walden. She saw resolution and indignation in the face of the stranger. Could not the face before her exhibit like qualities under like provocation? She must find out during the afternoon, if possible, whether or not Mr. Walden was her benefactor. If so, what should she say to him--how make known her gratitude?