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Updated: July 12, 2025
"Thank you," she said in a low voice, "I will come with you and stay with you until until I can find something to do, something at which I can earn my own living. Surely there must be something I can do?" She turned to Mr. Wordley with a little anxious, eager gesture. "I am strong very strong; I have managed Herondale I can ride, and and understand a farm. I am never tired.
Wordley; a gentleman was sitting beside him who, Ida guessed, was the architect. He proved to be no less a personage than the famous Mr. Hartley.
His voice was almost inaudible before he had finished, and Ida, down whose cheek tears were running for the first time, extended both hands in mute but eloquent gratitude. They had both forgotten Mr. John Heron's presence but were reminded of it by something between a cough and a sniff from him; and at a glance from Mr. Wordley, Ida turned to the gaunt figure and held out her hand.
Wordley, the family lawyer, was in the library. Mr. Heron flushed and scrambled his letters and papers together as he rose. "Won't Mr. Wordley come in and have some breakfast?" suggested Ida. But her father, shaking his head impatiently, said that Mr. Wordley was sure to have had his breakfast, and shuffled out of the room.
Wordley sprang to his feet, his passion rendering him speechless for a moment. "You rebuke Miss Ida! Are you out of your mind? And pray, what had she done?" "She had been guilty of attempting to ensnare the affection of my son " began John Heron. At this moment the door opened and Joseph appeared. Mr. Wordley looked at him.
Why should I go to them? Do they want me? Have they asked me?" Mr. Wordley coughed discreetly. They certainly had not asked her, but he felt quite assured that an individual whose reputation for sanctity stood so high could not be so deficient in charity as to refuse a home to his orphan cousin.
Wordley was there to say good-bye to Ida and put her into the carriage; but it proved a difficult good-bye to say, and for once the usually fluent old lawyer was bereft of the power of speech as he held Ida's small hand, and looked through tear-dimmed eyes at the white and sorrowful face.
"We must be guided by the light of our consciences; we must not yield to the seductive in fineness of creature comfort. We are told that strong drink is raging " This was rather more than Mr. Wordley could stand, and, very red in the face, he invited Mr. John Heron to go up to the room which had been prepared for him.
Clothe the offer as kindly as he might, it spelt Charity, not cold charity, but charity still: and what Heron had ever tamely accepted charity from mere friends and strangers? Mr. Wordley saw the shrinking, the little shudder, and understood. "I understand, my dear!" he said, in a low voice. "But there is another offer, another home which you can accept without humiliation or compunction.
"Oh, don't call it miserable, on a morning like this!" said Mr. Wordley, cheerfully. "My dear sir, there is nothing the matter with the world; it's er some of the people in it that try to make it miserable." While he had been speaking, he had been glancing at the door and listening, as if he had been listening and expecting to hear and see someone else.
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