"Tell her, Robin," said the maid.
* * * * *
It appeared that matters were not yet as wholly decided as Mrs. Manners
had thought. Indeed, it seemed to her that they were not decided at all.
Robin had written to Dr. Allen, and had found means to convey his letter
to Mr. Simpson, who, in his turn, had undertaken to forward it at least
as far as to London; and there it would await a messenger to Douay. It
might be a month before it would reach Douay, and it might be three or
four months, or even more, before an answer could come back. Next, the
squire had taken a course of action which, plainly, had disconcerted the
lad, though it had its conveniences too. For, instead of increasing the
old man's fury, the news his son had given him had had a contrary
effect. He had seemed all shaken, said Robin; he had spoken to him
quietly, holding in the anger that surely must be there, the boy
thought, without difficulty. And the upshot of it was that no more had
been said as to Robin's leaving Matstead for the present--not one word
even about the fines. It seemed almost as if the old man had been trying
how far he could push his son, and had recoiled when he had learned the
effect of his pushing.
"I think he is frightened," said the lad gravely. "He had never thought
that I could be a priest."
Mrs. Manners considered this in silence.
"And it may be autumn before Dr. Allen's letter comes back?" she asked
presently.
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