'Pack o' stuff!' said Blore.
'Not here? Well, to be sure! We can't find her anywhere in the wide
house! I've been sent to look for her with these overclothes and
umbrella. I've suffered horse-flesh traipsing up and down, and can't
find her nowhere. Lord, Lord, where can she be, and two months' wages
owing to me!' 'Why so anxious, Anthony Green, as I think yer name is shaped? You be
not a married man?' said Hezzy.
''Tis what they call me, neighbours, whether or no.' 'But surely you was a bachelor chap by late, afore her ladyship got rid
of the regular servants and took ye?' 'I were; but that's past!' 'And how came ye to bow yer head to 't, Anthony? 'Tis what you never was
inclined to. You was by no means a doting man in my time.' 'Well, had I been left to my own free choice, 'tis as like as not I
should ha' shunned forming such kindred, being at that time a poor day
man, or weekly, at my highest luck in hiring. But 'tis wearing work to
hold out against the custom of the country, and the woman wanting ye to
stand by her and save her from unborn shame; so, since common usage would
have it, I let myself be carried away by opinion, and took her. Though
she's never once thanked me for covering her confusion, that's true!
But, 'tis the way of the lost when safe, and I don't complain. Here she is,
just behind, under the tree, if you'd like to see her?--a very nice
homespun woman to look at, too, for all her few weather-stains. . . .
Well, well, where can my lady be? And I the trusty jineral man--'tis
more than my place is worth to lose her! Come forward, Christiana, and
talk nicely to the work-folk.' While the woman was talking the rain increased so much that they all
retreated further into the hut. St. Cleeve, who had impatiently stood a
little way off, now saw his opportunity, and, putting in his head, said,
'The rain beats in; you had better shut the door. I must ascend and
close up the dome.' Slamming the door upon them without ceremony he quickly went to Lady
Constantine in the column, and telling her they could now pass the
villagers unseen he gave her his arm. Thus he conducted her across the
front of the hut into the shadows of the firs.
'I will run to the house and harness your little carriage myself,' he
said tenderly. 'I will then take you home in it.' 'No; please don't leave me alone under these dismal trees!' Neither
would she hear of his getting her any wraps; and, opening her little
sunshade to keep the rain out of her face, she walked with him across the
insulating field, after which the trees of the park afforded her a
sufficient shelter to reach home without much damage.