After the morning mass, Pastor Glowford went to the Count of Draymore's estate, Rivershold, which he had never been to during his stay in Walsingham, for the old landlord never took any interest in the fate of his peasants. The pastor walked: he was fond of walking, and at such times felt full of vigour. He had no horse, and he did not want to disturb the parishioners with his problems, and there was only one horse in the village. So, dressed in his best suit, long since worn and patched by Catherine's hands, Pastor Glowford walked along the dusty road to Rivershold. On the way, he prayed that God would listen to the prayers of his parishioners, turn Lord Draymore's heart to them, and meet their needs. He carried with him a large, yellowed paperweight with an old drawing of the church, wishing to show it to the Earl, with a view to its possible restoration. Strangely enough, the pastor believed the new landlord and thought that the Lord himself had brought him to Walsingham. But suddenly the pastor remembered Cassie's illness and became worried: how was his treasure feeling? But the knowledge that Catherine was looking after her reassured him: his face brightened, and with renewed strength and hope in his heart he made his way to the manor.
The two lords were seated in the large, sumptuous drawing-room, furnished with expensive English-style furniture, drinking brandy and discussing yesterday's trip to Walsingham.
– How could such squalid places exist in the early nineteenth century? I thought they had all disappeared a couple of centuries ago! – Lord Draymore said in surprise and grinned sarcastically. – Oh, Uncle Buck, what a burden you've put on my neck in exchange for this estate!
– But why didn't your uncle mention the village when he gave you his will? – Viscount Wilworth asked him.
– I have no idea. Perhaps he didn't even realise there was a village on his land. I myself learnt of it from my secretary.
– But, my friend, with your wealth, you can do these peasants a great deal of good. You have seen how poor they are, how crooked their houses are, how poorly they are dressed… Poor, wretched people.
– Yes, Dominic, I have. But in this dirt my eyes saw not only poverty, but also a beautiful flower, – said Colin Draymore, remembering the beautiful modest daughter of the pastor, Christine.