“No, child, I must myself go in, and will speak to Durdle. Do you entertain Captain Harford. You were children together and will have many a matter to talk over, I’ll warrant.” He went into the house, and Gabriel drew a little nearer to Hilary. “Your uncle does not know, then, that we were ever more to one another than just playmates?” he said; and as for an instant she glanced at him, she saw how much he must have gone through since their last parting. “No,” she replied, shyly. “He never heard about it. So much has passed since then. You had tidings of my dear mother’s death, Gabriel?” “Yes, I heard of it at Bath, before the fight at Lansdown. My thoughts have always been with you, but you never replied to my letter.” “No letter ever reached me,” she said. “This miserable war too often makes writing useless,” said Gabriel, with a sigh. “For nigh upon two years I have been hoping against hope for an answer. Ah! here comes Mrs. Durdle.” “Dinner is served, mistress,” said Durdle. “I hope I see you well, sir,” she added, curtseying and beaming as her eyes fell on Gabriel. “Why! Mrs. Durdle,” he said, laughing, as he shook her by the hand. “I could fancy myself at home once more now that I see you again.” “And it’s glad I am to welcome you to Bosbury, sir,” said the housekeeper, blithely. “Begun your work you did by guarding me and that silly wench Maria when the Parliament soldiers first came to Hereford; and now here you be to guard Bosbury Cross from that crazy-pated Waghorn.” They entered the house and were soon dining together. Hilary, far too much excited to eat, keeping up a gallant show with a mere fragment of meat and a large helping of salad, but Gabriel making satisfactory inroads on the cold stalled ox, which usually made the household dinner on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. “I only hope that in the excitement of that scene in the churchyard, Durdle hasn’t let my apple pasties burn to cinders in the oven,” said Hilary, smiling. “You always used to have a liking for hot apple pasties when we were children,” she said, glancing at him. “And ’tis many a day since I had a chance of tasting one,” he said, laughing. “Soldiers are supposed to keep alive and well on the strangest fare.” “Ah! sir, you have done a grand work to-day,” said the Vicar, with such relief and happiness in his tone that Hilary found tears starting to her eyes. “You have shown a generous forbearance which coming generations will have cause to remember with gratitude.” “In truth, sir,” said Gabriel, “’tis I that am indebted to you for words that will often cheer me in these harsh times. Our rasping differences are ever confronting us and shutting out all thought of what we share.”