But as he was impulsive, so also was he lighthearted, and when he had chosen his bedroom and written the note to Mary, in which he desired her to pack up his belongings and send them to him, he was almost at ease as regarded that matter. Old Tappitt was, as he said to himself, an old ass, and if he chose to make that brewery business a cause of quarrel no one could help it. Mary was bidden in the note to say very civil things to Mrs. Tappitt; but, at the same time, to speak out the truth boldly. “Tell her,” said he, “that I am constrained to leave the house because Mr. Tappitt and I cannot agree at the present moment about matters of business.” When this was done he looked at his watch, and started off on his walk to Bragg’s End.
It has been said that Rowan had not made up his mind to ask Rachel to be his wife—that he had not made up his mind on this matter, although he was going to Bragg’s End in a mood which would very probably bring him to such a conclusion. It will, I fear, be thought from this that he was light in purpose as well as light in heart; but I am not sure that he was open to any special animadversion of that nature. It is the way of men to carry on such affairs without any complete arrangement of their own plans or even wishes. He knew that he admired Rachel and liked her. I doubt whether he had ever yet declared to himself that he loved her. I doubt whether he had done so when he started on that walk—thinking it probable, however, that he had persuaded himself of the fact before he reached the cottage door. He had already, as we know, said words to Rachel which he should not have said unless he intended to seek her as his wife;—he had spoken words and done things of that nature, being by no means perfect in all his ways. But he had so spoken and so acted without premeditation, and now was about to follow up those little words and little acts to their natural consequence—also without much premeditation.
Rachel had told her mother, on her return from the ball, that Luke Rowan had promised to call; and had offered to take herself off from the cottage for the whole afternoon, if her mother thought it wrong that she should see him. Mrs. Ray had never felt herself to be in greater difficulty.
“I don’t know that you ought to run away from him,” said she: “and besides, where are you to go to?”
Rachel said at once that if her absence were desirable she would find whither to betake herself. “I’d stay upstairs in my bedroom, for the matter of that, mamma.”
“He’d be sure to know it,” said Mrs. Rowan, speaking of the young man as though he were much to be feared;—as indeed he was much feared by her.
“If you don’t think I ought to go, perhaps it would be best that I should stay,” said Rachel, at last, speaking in a very low tone, but still with some firmness in her voice.
“I’m sure I don’t know what I’m to say to him,” said Mrs. Ray.
“That must depend upon what he says to you, mamma,” said Rachel.
After that there was no further talk of running away; but the morning did not pass with them lightly or pleasantly. They made an effort to sit quietly at their work, and to talk over the doings at Mrs. Tappitt’s ball; but this coming of the young man threw its shadow, more or less, over everything. They could not talk, or even look at each other, as they would have talked and looked had no such advent been expected. They dined at one, as was their custom, and after dinner I think it probable that each of them stood before her glass with more care than she would have done on ordinary days. It was no ordinary day, and Mrs. Ray certainly put on a clean cap.
“Will that collar do?” she said to Rachel.
“Oh, yes, mamma,” said Rachel, almost angrily. She also had taken her little precautions, but she could not endure to have such precautions acknowledged, even by a word.
The afternoon was very tedious. I don’t know why Luke should have been expected exactly at three; but Mrs. Ray had, I think,
