As if he would drag their thoughts out of them, he went from one to another with a hard quick glance, which they all tried to shun; for they did not want to tell until he should get into a better frame of mind. And they looked at Mistress Anerley, to come forth and take his edge off; but she knew that when his eyes were so, to interfere was mischief. But Carroway did not understand the man. “Come, now, Anerley,” the bold lieutenant said; “what are you getting into such a way about? I would sooner have lost the hundred pounds twice over, and a hundred of my own--if so be I ever had it--than get little Mary into such a row as this. Why, Lord bless my heart, one would think that there was murder in a little bit of sweethearting. All pretty girls do it; and the plain ones too. Come and smoke a pipe, my good fellow, and don't terrify her.” For Mary was sobbing in a corner by herself, without even her mother to come up and say a word. “My daughter never does it,” answered Stephen Anerley; “my daughter is not like the foolish girls and women. My daughter knows her mind; and what she does she means to do. Mary, lof, come to your father, and tell him that every one is lying of you. Sooner would I trust a single quiet word of yours, than a pile, as big as Flambro Head, sworn by all the world together against my little Mary.” The rest of them, though much aggrieved by such a bitter calumny, held their peace, and let him go with open arms toward his Mary. The farmer smiled, that his daughter might not have any terror of his public talk; and because he was heartily expecting her to come and tell him some trifle, and be comforted, and then go for a good happy cry, while he shut off all her enemies. But instead of any nice work of that nature, Mary Anerley arose and looked at the people in the room--which was their very best, and by no means badly furnished--and after trying to make out, as a very trifling matter, what their unsettled minds might be, her eyes came home to her father's, and did not flinch, although they were so wet. Master Anerley, once and forever, knew that his daughter was gone from him. That a stronger love than one generation can have for the one before it--pure and devoted and ennobling as that love is--now had arisen, and would force its way. He did not think it out like that, for his mind was not strictly analytic--however his ideas were to that effect, which is all that need be said about them. “Every word of it is true,” the girl said, gently; “father, I have done every word of what they say, except about knocking down Captain Carroway. I have promised to marry Robin Lyth, by-and-by, when you agree to it.”