Still, as ever, he spoke
little. He said her uncle was right in sparing tears and farewells,
no doubt reserving to himself the belief that it was against her
will. And when Patience could not help declaring that the girl might
have made him share her prosperity, he said, "I'm past looking after
her lands. Her uncle would say so. 'Tis his doing; I am glad of
what is best for my darling as was. There's an end of it, Patience--
joy and grief. And I thank God that the child is safely cared for at
last."
He tried to be as usual, but he was very ill that night.
Patience found the money in her basket. She hated it and put it
aside, and it was only some time after that she was constrained to
use it, only then telling Stead whence it came, when he could endure
to hear that the uncle had done his best to be just.
CHAPTER XXIII.
FULFILMENT.
"My spirit heats her mortal bars,
As down dark tides the glory glides,
And mingles with the stars."
TENNYSON.
The year 1660 had come, and in the autumn, just as harvest was over,
and the trees on the slopes were taking tints of red, yellow, and
brown, an elderly clergyman, staff in hand, came slowly up the long
lane leading to Elmwood, whence he had been carried, bound to his
horse, seventeen years before.
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