And it was this latter mood that fell on her,
swift and entire, when, looking out from her window a little before
dinner-time, she saw suddenly his hat, and Cecily's head, jerking up the
steep path that led to the house.
She fell on her knees by her bedside.
"Jesu!" she cried. "Jesu! Give me strength to meet him."
* * * * *
Mrs. Manners, too, hearing the horse's footsteps on the pavement a
minute later, and Marjorie's steps going downstairs, also looked forth
and saw him dismounting. She was a prudent woman, and did not stir a
finger till she heard the bell ringing in the court for the dinner to be
served. They would have time, so she thought, to arrange their
attitudes.
And, indeed, she was right: for it was two quiet enough persons who met
her as she came down into the hall: Robin flushed with riding, yet
wholly under his own command--bright-eyed, and resolute and natural
(indeed, it seemed to her that he was more of a man than she had thought
him). And her daughter, too, was still and strong; a trifle paler than
she should be, yet that was to be expected. At dinner, of course,
nothing could be spoken of but the most ordinary affairs--in such
speaking, that is, as there was. It was not till they had gone out into
the walled garden and sat them down, all three of them, on the long
garden-seat beside the rose-beds, that a word was said on these new
matters. There was silence as they walked there, and silence as they sat
down.
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