And the two
gentlemen--for Captain Fortescue would not sit down, and Robin had risen
at his entrance--the two gentlemen stood by it. They were not in their
boots, for they were not to ride till morning; they appeared two
ordinary gentlemen, each hat-in-hand, and Robin had his cloak across his
arm. Anthony Babington stood in the shadow by the door, and, beyond him,
the girl could see the face of Dick, who had come up to say good-bye
again to his old master.
That was all--four men and two ladies. None raised his voice, none made
a gesture. The home party spoke of the journey, and of their hopes that
all would go well; the travellers, or rather the leader (for Robin spoke
not one word, good or bad), said that he was sure it would be so; there
was not one-tenth of the difficulty in getting out of England as of
getting into it. Then, again, he said that it was late; that he had
still one or two matters to arrange; that they must be out of London as
soon as the gates opened. And the scene ended.
Robin bowed to the two ladies, precisely and courteously; making no
difference between them, and wheeled and went out, and she saw Dick's
face, too, vanish from the door, and heard the voices of the two on the
stairs. Marjorie returned the salute of Mr. Ballard, longing to entreat
him to take good care of the boy, yet knowing that she must not and
could not.
Then he, too, was gone, with Anthony to see him downstairs; and
Marjorie, without a word, went straight through to her room, fearing to
trust her own voice, for she felt that her heart was gone with them.
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