The next moment he was out of the house: lady Ann might go to his father, and he would gladly avoid the necessity of disobeying him the first morning after his return! He did not know how small was her influence with her husband. He took the path across the fields, and ran until he was out of sight of Mortgrange. CHAPTER LXI. _HEART TO HEART_. When he came to the parsonage, which he had to pass on his way to the Hall, he saw Mr. Wingfold through the open window of the drawing-room, and turned to the door. The parson met him on the threshold. “Welcome!” he said. “How did you get through your dinner?” “Better than I expected,” replied Richard. “But this morning my stepmother began feeling my mouth: she would have me promise not to call on the Wylders. They had been rude to her, she said.” “Come into the drawing-room. A friend of mine is there who will be glad to see you.” The drawing-room of the parsonage was low and dark, with its two windows close together on the same side. At the farther end stood a lady, seemingly occupied with an engraving on the wall. She did not move when they entered. Wingfold led Richard up to her, then turned without a word, and left the room. Before either knew, they were each in the other's arms. Barbara was sobbing. Richard thought he had dared too much and had frightened her. “I couldn't help it!” Barbara said pleadingly. “My life has been a longing for you!” said Richard. “I have wanted you every day!” said Barbara, and began again to sob, but recovered herself with an effort. “This will never do!” she cried, laughing through her tears. “I shall go crazy with having you! And I've not seen you yet! Let me go, please. I want to look at you!” Richard released her. She lifted a blushing, tearful face to his. But there was only joy, no pain in her tears; only delight, no shame in her blushes. One glance at the simple, manly face before her, so full of the trust that induces trust, would have satisfied any true woman that she was as safe in his thoughts as in those of her mother. She gazed at him one long silent moment. “How splendid you are!” she cried, like a wild schoolgirl. “How good of you to grow like that! I wish I could see you on Miss Brown!--What are you going to do, Richard?” While she spoke, Richard was pasturing his eyes, the two mouths of his soul, on the heavenly meadow of her face; and she for very necessity went on talking, that she might not cry again. “Are you going back to the bookbinding?” she said. “I do not know. Sir Wilton--my father hasn't told me yet what he wants me to do.--Wasn't it good of him to send me to Oxford?” “You've been at Oxford then all this time?--I suppose he will make an officer of you now!--Not that I care! I am content with whatever contents you!” “I dare say he will hardly like me to live by my hands!” answered Richard, laughing. “He would count it a degradation! There I shall never be able to think like a gentleman!” Barbara looked perplexed.