Satisfied by this explanation, and by the condescension with which it was given, Stafford’s affection for his master returned with all its wonted force: and he resumed his former occupations about the house with redoubled activity. He waited only till he could be spared for a day to go to Rosanna, and make his proposal for Rose. Her behaviour concerning the ball convinced him that his mother’s prejudices against Irishwomen were ill-founded. Whilst his mind was in this state, his master one morning sent for him, and told him that it was absolutely necessary he should go to a neighbouring county, to some persons who were freeholders, and whose votes might turn the election. The business would only occupy a few days, Sir Hyacinth said; and Stafford willingly undertook it. The gentlemen to whom Stafford had letters were not at home, and he was detained above a fortnight. When he returned, he took a road which led by Rosanna, that he might at least have the pleasure of seeing Rose for a few minutes; but when he called at the cottage, to his utter surprise, he was refused admittance. Being naturally of a warm temper, and not deficient in pride, his first impulse was to turn his horse’s head, and gallop off: but, checking his emotion, he determined not to leave the place till he should discover the cause of this change of conduct. He considered that none of this family had formerly treated him with caprice or duplicity; it was therefore improbable they should suddenly alter their conduct towards him, unless they had reason to believe that they had some sufficient cause. He rode immediately to a field where he saw some labourers at work. Farmer Gray was with them. Stafford leaped from his horse, and, with an air of friendly honesty, held out his hand, saying, “I can’t believe you mean to affront me: tell me what is the reason I am not to be let into your house, my good friend?” Gray leaned upon his stick, and, after looking at him for a moment, replied, “We have been too hasty, I see: we have had no cause of quarrel with you, Stafford: you could never look at me with that honest countenance, if you had any hand in this business.” “What business?” cried Stafford. “Walk home with me, out of the hearing of these people, and you shall know.” As they walked towards his cottage, Gray took out his great leather pocket-book, and searched for a letter. “Pray, Stafford,” said he, “did you, about ten days ago, send my girl a melon?” “Yes; one of my own raising. I left it with the gardener, to be sent to her with my best respects and services; and a message intimating to say that I was sorry my master’s business required I should take a journey, and could not see her for a few days, or something that way.” “No such message came; only your services, the melon, and this note. I declare,” continued Gray, looking at Stafford whilst he read the letter, “he turns as pale as my wife herself did when I showed it to her!”