The table, covered
with snowy damask, seemed a kind of domestic altar, and Phyllis thought
she had never seen Elizabeth look so grandly fair and home-like as
she did that hour, moving about in the light of the fire and candles.
She did not wonder that Richard heard nothing of the conversation,
and that his whole attention was given to his promised wife.
The squire got the delicacies he wanted, and really it appeared as
if his advice was very good medicine. Happiness, hope, and a sense
of gratitude was in each heart. The old room grew wonderfully cozy
and bright; the faces that gathered round the table and the fire were
full of love, and sweet, reasonable contentment. When supper was over
Richard and Elizabeth went quietly into the great entrance hall, where
there was always a little fire burning. They had their own hopes and
joys, in which no heart, however near and dear, could intermeddle,
and this was fully recognized. Phyllis only gave them a bright smile
as they withdrew. The squire ignored their absence; Antony was at
Eltham; for an hour the two little groups were as happy as mortals
may be.
The rector had another pipe after supper, and still talked fitfully
about "tithes." It seemed to be a subject which fitted in comfortably
to the pauses in a long pipe. But when he had finished his "thimbleful"
of tobacco, and shaken out its ashes carefully, he looked at Phyllis
with a face full of renewed interest, and said,
"Squire, do you know that your niece thinks John Wesley was a
High-Churchman?"
"What I meant, sir, was this: Wesley had very decided views in favor
of the Episcopacy.
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