"In the meantime, you must keep as quiet as you can, John," I said.
"Where is the good of planning upon an _if_? To trust is to get ready,
uncle says. Trust is better than foresight."
John required little such persuading. And indeed something very different
was in my uncle's mind from what John feared.
Presently I caught a glimpse of him riding out of the yard. I ran to a
window from which I could see the edge of the moor, and saw him cross it
at an uphill gallop.
He was gone about four hours, and on his return went straight to his own
room. Not until nine o'clock did I go to him, and then he came with me to
supper.
He looked worn, but was kind and genial as usual. After supper he sent
for Dick, and told him to ride to Rising, the first thing in the morning,
with a letter he would find on the hall-table.
The letter he read to us before we parted for the night. It was all we
could have wished. He wrote that he must not have any one in his house
interfered with; so long as a man was his guest, he was his servant. Her
ladyship had, however, a perfect right to see her son, and would be
welcome; only the decision as to his going or remaining must rest with
the young man himself. If he chose to accompany his mother, well and
good! though he should be sorry to lose him. If he declined to return
with her, he and his house continued at his service.
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