Mary swept her with one look,
and then passed on and down the steps, followed by Isabel and Anthony, as
the Rector came out, locking the church door again behind him.
As they went up the green, a shrill thin voice began to scold from over
the churchyard wall, and they heard the lower, determined voice of the
minister answering.
"They are at it again," said Anthony, once more.
"And what do you mean by that, Master Anthony?" said Mistress Corbet, who
seemed herself again now.
"She is just a scold," said the lad, "the village-folk hate her."
"You seem not to love her," said Mary, smiling.
"Oh! Mistress Corbet, do you know what she said--" and then he broke off,
crimson-faced.
"She is no friend to Catholics, I suppose," said Mary, seeming to notice
nothing.
"She is always making mischief," he went on eagerly. "The Rector would be
well enough but for her. He is a good fellow, really."
"There, there," said Mary, "and you think me a scold, too, I daresay.
Well, you know I cannot bear to see these old churches--well, perhaps I
was--" and then she broke off again, and was silent.
The brother and sister presently turned back to the Dower House; and Mary
went on, and through the Hall straight into the Italian garden where
Mistress Margaret was sitting alone at her embroidery.
"My sister has been called away by the housekeeper," she explained, "but
she will be back presently."
Mary sat down and took up the little tawny book that lay by Lady
Maxwell's chair, and began to turn it over idly while she talked.
Pages:
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87