“Well,” said Fuller, “we are here pretty nigh every evenin' while the fine weather lasts. We happen to be here this afternoon because young Mr. Gold is goin' away for to-night to Castle Barfield. You'll find we here almost of any evenin'--to-morrow, to begin with.”
“We had better be going now, Ferdinand,” said his lordship, who dreaded the new beginning of the music. “Good-afternoon, Fuller. Good-afternoon, Eld. Good-afternoon, Gold.”
“Good-day, my lord,” said Reuben, rather gloomily. He had not spoken until now, and Ferdinand had wished to note the accent. There was none to note in the few words he uttered.
“Your little girl is growing into a woman, Fuller,” said his lordship.
“That's the way wi' most gells, my lord,” said Fuller.
“Good-afternoon, Miss Ruth,” said the old nobleman, nodding and smiling.
“Good-afternoon, my lord,” said Ruth. Ferdinand's attentive ear noted again the absence of the district accent. He removed his cap and bowed to her.
“Good-afternoon. I may come to-morrow evening, then?” The query was addressed to her, but she did not answer it, either by glance or word. She had answered his bow and turned away before he had spoken.
He bowed and smiled all round, and walked away with his lordship. He turned at the garden door for a final glance at the pretty girl, but she had her back turned upon him, and was leaning both hands on her father's shoulder.
The rustic little church at Heydon Hay made a nucleus for the village, which, close at hand, clustered about it pretty thickly, but soon began to fray off into scattered edges, as if the force of attraction decreased with distance, after the established rule. Beside the church-yard, and separated from it by a high brick wall, was a garden, fronted by half a dozen slim and lofty poplars. Within the churchyard the wall was only on a level with the topmost tufts of grass, but on the garden side it stood six feet high, and was bulged out somewhat by the weight of earth which pressed against it. Facing the tall poplars was a house of two stories. It looked like a short row of houses, for it boasted three front doors. Over each of these was hung a little contrivance which resembled a section of that extinguisher apparatus which is still to be found suspended above the pulpit in some old-fashioned country churches. All the windows of the old house were of diamond panes, and those of the upper story projected from the roof of solid and venerable thatch. A pair of doves had their home in a wicker cage which hung from the wall, and their cooing was like the voice of the house, so peaceful, homely, and Old-world was its aspect.