Percy’s voice ran on in a sort of complacent sing-song, while this thought took possession of John’s mind. What did he care for what the fellow was going to do in the parish? His self-assurance was intolerable to John, notwithstanding that he himself, in his way, was quite as much disposed to think well of his own new methods, and despise his elders, as Percy could do. But that is a thing which looks much less natural in another than it does in our own case. And John’s suspense and surprise were becoming more and more highly wrought. Could it be possible that Elly was not at home, that she was absent just when he looked for her, that she might perhaps never have heard that he was coming? This thought roused a great anger in his mind--he jumped at it with a flash of sudden conviction. She had never received his letter. She had never heard----
When suddenly the door opened, and some one came out, meeting them: a young lady nearly as tall as John, with brown hair of a warm shade, plaited in endless coils round the back of her head, with a stately carriage, a long white dress almost touching the ground; but, what was far better than all the rest, two hands held out.
‘After all, I was the first to see you,’ she cried. ‘Oh, Jack, did he tell you? I was looking over the garden-wall when you passed: but you never looked up. Oh, Jack, welcome home!’
And this was Elly! He took the hands she held out to him, and grasped them tight, and stared at her, but with changing looks, and the most extraordinary revolution going on in his mind. So this was Elly! He felt himself grow red, he felt himself stare; he was speechless, and had not a word to say. He had a kind of certainty that he must be disappointing to her, and that she expected him, naturally, to say something. But he could not find a word to say.
At last she tried to draw her fingers out of his clasp, and grew red, and laughed.
‘I daresay it is my fault. My hands are not so solid as they used to be. You--you hurt me a little, Jack!’
He dropped them as if they had been on fire, and burst into excuses.
‘How horrible of me!--how disgusting. As if I oughtn’t to have known. As if I shouldn’t have been sure----’ And here John’s voice seemed to die away in his throat, and he stood, now averting his eyes, now giving her a sudden shame-faced glance, crimson covering his face, and shame and perturbation his soul.
