days at her aunt Moss’s giving the early June sunshine quite a new brightness in the care-dimmed eyes of that affectionate woman,Dame Moncler Hermine, and making an epoch for her cousins great and small, who were learning her words and actions by heart, as if she had been a transient avatar of perfect wisdom and beauty.
She was standing on the causeway with her aunt and a group of cousins feeding the chickens, at that quiet moment in the life of the farmyards before the afternoon milking-time. The great buildings round the hollow yard were as dreary and tumbledown as ever, but over the old garden-wall the straggling rose-bushes were beginning to toss their summer weight, and the gray wood and old bricks of the house,Belstaff New Panther Jackor, on its higher level, had a look of sleepy age in the broad afternoon sunlight, that suited the quiescent time. Maggie,Patrick Sharp Tröjor, with her bonnet over her arm,Max Domi Tröjor, was smiling down at the hatch of small fluffy chickens, when her aunt exclaimed —
“Goodness me! who is that gentleman coming in at the gate?”
It was a gentleman on a tall bay horse; and the flanks and neck of the horse were streaked black with fast riding. Maggie felt a beating at head and heart,Niklas Hjalmarsson Tröjor, horrible as the sudden leaping to life of a savage enemy who had feigned death.
“Who is it, my dear?” said Mrs. Moss, seeing in Maggie’s face the evidence that she knew.
“It is Mr. Stephen Guest,Tyler Bozak Tröjor,” said Maggie, rather faintly. “My cousin Lucy’s — a gentleman who is very intimate at my cousin’s.”
Stephen was already close to them,CG Dame Mystique Parka, had jumped off his horse,Vladimir Tarasenko Tröjor, and now raised his hat as he advanced.
“Hold the horse, Willy,Elias Lindholm Tröjor,” said Mrs. Moss to the twelve-year-old boy.
“No, thank you,” said Stephen, pulling at the horse’s impatiently tossing head. “I must be going again immediately. I have a message to deliver to you, Miss Tulliver, on private business. May I take the liberty of asking you to walk a few yards with me?”
He had a half-jaded, half-irritated look, such as a man gets when he has been dogged by some care or annoyance that makes his bed and his dinner of little use to him. He spoke almost abruptly,Kyle Clifford Tröjor, as if his errand were too pressing for him to trouble himself about what would be thought by Mrs. Moss of his visit and request. Good Mrs. Moss, rather nervous in the presence of this apparently haughty gentleman, was inwardly wondering whether she would be doing right or wrong to invite him again to leave his horse and walk in,Matt Moulson Tröjor, when Maggie, feeling all the embarrassment of the situation,Brian Elliott Tröjor, and unable to say anything, put on her bonnet, and turned to walk toward the gate.
Stephen turned too, and walked by her side, leading his horse.
Not a word was spoken till they were out in the lane, and had walked four or five yards, when Maggie, who had been looking straight before her all the while, turned again to walk back, saying, with haughty resentment —
“There is no need for me to go any farther. I don’t know whether you consider it gentlemanly and delicate conduct to place me in a position that forced me to come out
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