"Undoubtedly! You are ripe for it, and she is a rare instructor--it will be an admirable arrangement." "And when I have learned everything that she can teach me, may I come back to you for the completion of my education?" he asked. "May be you will not want to come back," she said. "But, if I do," he persisted. "And, may be, I shall have too many pupils, _then_, to bother with another." "But, if you have not--if there is room for me?" "I cannot answer, now. Wait until you apply, it will depend on what you have been taught, and the extent of your proficiency?" He thought a moment. "The extent of my proficiency?" he repeated. "Should it be much or little?" "That is for you to judge," she answered, enigmatically--and left him. "That is for me to judge!" he muttered, looking after her. "Did she mean to warn me against learning too much from Miss Stirling? Did she mean to warn me against learning anything from her?" He smiled:--"Is she just a bit jealous of Miss Stirling, and has her jealousy quickened her perceptions?... My little Judith, have you cared for me--really, cared for me--all these years?--And have I been blind to the character of your affection, and blind to my own, as well?" He turned aside into the park, where the great trees were whispering, softly, to one another, and all else was still. Yes, he loved her! Not as the old friend, who had advised, and guided, and reproved. Not as he thought the man of steady life and confirmed habits, with wealth and reputation made, would love. Still more, not in the seemly manner a Governor's Councillor should love--but with a sudden rush of affection, that threatened to sweep away all the reserve and dignity of forty years. A love such as Paca, or Constable might have. He steadied himself. He might love as a young man, but he must act with the judgment and discretion of his years--sedately and with good sense. He thought she loved him--thought she had shown it with all the openness she dared. But he was not sure. He might have been mistaken--he might have tinctured her words with his own hope--read in them far more than they conveyed, far more than a younger man would have dared to read.... Moreover, even if he had read aright, he must not permit his love to overbalance his duty. He must be the protector still; must guard her from all danger of a hasty choice, from a semblance which she mistook for the reality. Must put her happiness first, his own, only if it chimed with hers.... She was a dear girl--a dear girl! She would preside at Rose Hill in a manner in keeping with the mistresses who had preceded: his own sweet mother, his grandsire's stately wife. She would restore the life which had been of it, until he had become master, and let the old life die. He would go home, and prepare for her coming--prepare to live!... Suddenly, he shook himself, as one awakening from a dream. God! what if she would not come--what if she married another!... XIII THE CAMPAIGNS