“Be sure you do, Hortense. Here she comes. That was her shadow passed the window, I believe.”
“Ah! truly. She is too early – half an hour before her time. – My child, what brings you here before I have breakfasted?”
This question was addressed to an individual who now entered the room, a young girl, wrapped in a winter mantle, the folds of which were gathered with some grace round an apparently slender figure.
“I came in haste to see how you were, Hortense, and how Robert was too. I was sure you would be both grieved by what happened last night. I did not hear till this morning. My uncle told me at breakfast.”
“Ah! it is unspeakable. You sympathize with us? Your uncle sympathizes with us?”
“My uncle is very angry – but he was with Robert, I believe, was he not? – Did he not go with you to Stilbro’ Moor?”
“Yes, we set out in very martial style, Caroline; but the prisoners we went to rescue met us half-way.”
“Of course nobody was hurt?”
“Why, no; only Joe Scott’s wrists were a little galled with being pinioned too tightly behind his back.”
“You were not there? You were not with the wagons when they were attacked?”
“No. One seldom has the fortune to be present at occurrences at which one would particularly wish to assist.”
“Where are you going this morning? I saw Murgatroyd saddling your horse in the yard.”
“To Whinbury. It is market day.”
“Mr. Yorke is going too. I met him in his gig. Come home with him.”
“Why?”
“Two are better than one, and nobody dislikes Mr. Yorke – at least, poor people do not dislike him.”
“Therefore he would be a protection to me, who am hated?”
“Who are misunderstood. That, probably, is the word. Shall you be late? – Will he be late, Cousin Hortense?”
“It is too probable. He has often much business to transact at Whinbury. Have you brought your exercise book, child?”
“Yes. – What time will you return, Robert?”
“I generally return at seven. Do you wish me to be at home earlier?”
“Try rather to be back by six. It is not absolutely dark at six now, but by seven daylight is quite gone.”
“And what danger is to be apprehended, Caroline, when daylight is gone? What peril do you conceive comes as the companion of darkness for me?”
“I am not sure that I can define my fears, but we all have a certain anxiety at present about our friends. My uncle calls these times dangerous. He says, too, that mill owners are unpopular.”