He drew a deed from the coverlet, and handed it to her. He had got it from Sir William that morning. The poor and the crude in mind can only understand an objective emotion, and the counters for these are this world’s goods. Here was a balm in Gilead. The love of her child was real, but the consolation was so practical to Mrs. Cawley that the lips which might have cursed, said: “Ah, sir, the wind do be fittin’ the shore lamb! I’ the last Judgen, I’ll no speak agen ‘ee. I be sore fretted harm come to ‘ee.” At this Mrs. Gasgoyne rose, and in her bustling way dismissed the grateful peasant, who fondled the deed and called eagerly down the stairs to her husband as she went. Mrs. Gasgoyne then came back, sat down, and said: “Now you needn’t fret about that any longer--barbarian!” she added, shaking a finger. “Didn’t I say that you would get into trouble? that you would set the country talking? Here you were, in the dead of night, telling ghost stories, and raking up your sins, with no cause whatever, instead of in your bed. You were to have lunched with us the next day--I had asked Lady Harriet to meet you, too!--and you didn’t; and you have wretched patches where your hair ought to be. How can you promise that you’ll not make a madder sensation some day?” Gaston smiled up at her. Her fresh honesty, under the guise of banter, was always grateful to him. He shook his head, smiled, and said nothing. She went on. “I want a promise that you will do what your godfather and godmother will swear for you.” She acted on him like wine. “Of course, anything. Who are my godfather and godmother?” She looked him steadily, warmly in the eyes: “Warren and myself.” Now he understood: his promise to his grandmother and grandfather. So, they had spoken! He was sure that Mrs. Gasgoyne had objected. He knew that behind her playful treatment of the subject there was real scepticism of himself. It put him on his mettle, and yet he knew she read him deeper than any one else, and flattered him least. He put out his hand, and took hers. “You take large responsibilities,” he said, “but I will try and justify you--honestly, yes.” In her hearty way, she kissed him on the cheek. “There,” she responded, “if you and Delia do make up your minds, see that you treat her well. And you are to come, just as soon as you are able, to stay at Peppingham. Delia, silly child, is anxious, and can’t see why she mustn’t call with me now.”