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Rushleigh's buggy stood by the fence; and he was there, among his mechanics, with his straw hat and seersucker coat on, inspecting and giving orders. "What a capital old fellow the governor is!" said Paul, in the fashion young men use, nowadays, to utter their affections. "Do you know he means to set me up in these mills he is making such a hobby of, and give me half the profits?"
Coming into the mill yard, they were aware of a little commotion about one of the side doors. The mill girl who had fainted sat here, surrounded by two or three of her companions, slowly recovering. "It is Mary Grover, sir, from up at the Peak," said one of them, in reply to Mr. Rushleigh's question.
Rushleigh's dressing room; their hurried chat and gladsome greetings distracted with the drawing on of gloves and the last adjustment of shining locks, while the bewildering music was floating up from below, mingled with the hum of voices from the rooms where, as children say, "the party had begun" already. And Mrs.
And I'll wait now till you tell me I may speak again. Till you put on that little ring of mine, Faith!" There was a little loving reproach in these last words. "Please take me home, now, Paul!" They were close upon the return path around the Lake. A look of disappointed pain passed over Paul Rushleigh's features. This was hardly the happy reception, however shy, he had hoped and looked for.
Rushleigh's voice in the mill yard, and then the staircase door closed and locked below. Thinking that he should be here no more, to-night, he had shut and fastened it. It was no matter. She would go through the mill, by and by, and look at the looms; and so out, and over the river, then, to Aunt Faith's.
Armstrong and Miss Sampson came, she met them at the front entrance, and led the nurse directly to her mistress, as she had been told. Mr. Armstrong betook himself to his own room. Perhaps the hollow Paul Rushleigh's horse had pawed at the gatepost, and the closed door of the keeping room, revealed something to his discernment that kept him from seeking Faith just then.
"For all day the wheels are droning, turning, Their wind comes in our faces, Till our hearts turn, our head with pulses burning, And the walls turn in their places." Faith sat silent by Mr. Rushleigh's side, drinking in, also, with a cool content, the river air that blew upon their faces as they drove along.
A door at the base opened upon a staircase leading up. This was the entrance to Mr. Rushleigh's "sanctum," above, which communicated, also, with the second story of the mill. Here Faith paused. She caught, from around the corner, a sound of the angry voices of men. "I tell you, I'll stay here till I see the boss!" "I tell you, the boss won't see you. He's done with you."
Kinnicutt has begun to grow; and when places or people once take a start, there's no knowing what they may come to. Here's something for you, Faithie, that I dare say tells all about it." And he tossed over her shoulder, upon the table, a letter, bearing her name, in Margaret Rushleigh's chirography, upon the cover.
Do men know how their young daughters feel when the first suggestion comes that they are not regarded as born for perpetual daughterhood in the father's house? Would she even encumber his plans, if she clung still to her maidenly life? By all these subtleties does the destiny of woman close in upon her. Margaret Rushleigh's letter was full of delight, and eagerness, and anticipation.
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