surly
master will answer a servant whom he does not like; but the father,
as a father, had never spoken to the child; nor, up to this moment,
had he said a word even to his wife of his intended journey to
Salisbury. But now he was driven to speak. He had placed himself in
the arm chair, and was sitting with his hands on his knees gazing
into the empty fire-grate. Carry was standing at the open window,
pulling the dead leaves off three or four geraniums which her mother
kept there in pots. Fanny was passing in and out from the back
kitchen, in which the water for their tea was being boiled, and Mrs.
Brattle was in her usual place with her spectacles on, and a darning
needle in her hand. A minute was allowed to pass by before the miller
answered his eldest daughter.

"There'll be two beds wanted," he said; "I told Muster Fenwick as I'd
go with the girl myself;--and so I wull."

Carry started so that she broke the flower which she was touching.
Mrs. Brattle immediately stopped her needle, and withdrew her
spectacles from her nose. Fanny, who was that instant bringing the
tea-pot out of the back kitchen, put it down among the tea cups, and
stood still to consider what she had heard.

"Dear, dear, dear!" said the mother.

"Father," said Fanny, coming up to him, and just touching him with
her hand; "'twill be best for you to go, much best. I am heartily
glad on it, and so will Carry be."

"I knows nowt about that," said the miller; "but I mean to go, and
that's all about it. I ain't a been to Salsbry these fifteen year and
more, and I shan't be there never again."

"There's no saying that, father," said Fanny.

"And it ain't for no pleasure as I'm agoing now. Nobody 'll s'pect
that of me. I'd liever let the millstone come on my foot."

There was nothing more said about it that evening, nothing more at
least in the miller's hearing. Carry and her sister were discussing
it nearly the whole night. It was very soon plain to Fanny that Carry
had heard the tidings with dismay. To be alone with her father for
two, three, or perhaps four days, seemed to her to be so terrible,
that she hardly knew how to face the misery and gloom of his
company,--in addition to the fears she had as to what they would say
and do to her in the Court. Since she had been home, she had learned
almost to tremble at the sound of her father's foot; and yet she had
known that he would not harm her, would hardly notice her, would not
do more than loo