So little
did it please him, indeed, that when at last he rose to find his way
to bed up the old oak staircase, the only imposing thing in Molehill,
he had almost made up his mind to give up the idea of living at Honham
at all. He would sell the place and emigrate to Vancouver's Island or
New Zealand, and thus place an impassable barrier between himself and
that sweet, strong face, which seemed to have acquired a touch of
sternness since last he looked upon it five years ago.
Ah, wise resolutions of the quiet night, whither do you go in the
garish light of day? To heaven, perhaps, with the mist wreaths and the
dew drops.
When the Squire got back to the castle, he found his daughter still
sitting in the drawing room.
"What, not gone to bed, Ida?" he said.
"No, father, I was going, and then I thought that I would wait to hear
what all this is about Janter and the Moat Farm. It is best to get it
over."
"Yes, yes, my dear--yes, but there is not much to tell you. Janter has
thrown up the farm after all, and George says that there is not
another tenant to be had for love or money. He tried one man, who said
that he would not have it at five shillings an acre, as prices are."
"That is bad enough in all conscience," said Ida, pushing at the
fireirons with her foot.
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