The Rector, patting his
gaiters, felt that instead of a pastor he might become a very sweet
repast to them, and his delicacy was renewed and deepened. He was bound
to wait until his nephew appeared at least inside his parish.
Therefore the time of year was come almost to the middle of February
when Mr. Twemlow at last obtained the chance he required and dreaded. He
heard that his nephew had been seen that day to put up his horse in the
village, and would probably take the homeward road as soon as it grew
too dark to read. So he got through his own work (consisting chiefly of
newspaper, dinner, and a cool clay pipe, to equalise mind with matter),
and having thus escaped the ladies, off he set by the lobby door,
carrying a good thick stick. As the tide would be up, and only deep
sand left for the heavy track of the traveller, he chose the inland way
across the lower part of the Admiral's grounds, leading to the village
by a narrow plank bridge across the little stream among some trees. Here
were banks of earth and thicket, shadowy dells where the primrose grew,
and the cuckoo-pint, and wood-sorrel, and perhaps in summer the glowworm
breathed her mossy gleam under the blackberries.
And here Parson Twemlow was astonished, though he had promised himself
to be surprised no more, after all he had been through lately. As he
turned a sharp corner by an ivied tree, a breathless young woman ran
into his arms.
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