Nor was his disappointment lessened when, after a spell of thoughtful silence, she began to comment upon the condition of the trees in the park below.

Gregory had it in his mind to chide her for this lack of interest in the fate of her intended husband, but he let the impulse pass unheeded.

After all, if Kenneth lived she should marry him.

Hitherto she had been docile and willing enough to be guided by him; she had even displayed a kindness for Kenneth; no doubt she would do so again when Joseph returned with him--unless he were among the Worcester slain, in which case, perhaps, it would prove best that his fate was not to cause her any prostration of grief.
"The sky is heavy, father," said Cynthia from the window.

"Poor uncle! He will have rough weather for his journey." "I rejoice that someone wastes pity on poor uncle," growled Joseph, who re-entered, "this uncle whom your father drives out of doors in all weathers to look for his daughter's truant lover." Cynthia smiled upon him.
"It is heroic of you, uncle." "There, there," he grumbled, "I shall do my best to find the laggard, lest those pretty eyes should weep away their beauty." Gregory's glance reproved this sneer of Joseph's, whereupon Joseph drew close to him: "Broken-hearted, is she not ?" he muttered, to which Gregory returned no answer.
An hour later, as Joseph climbed into his saddle, he turned to his brother again, and directing his eyes upon the girl, who stood patting the glossy neck of his nag: "Come, now," said he, "you see that matters are as I said." "And yet," replied Gregory sternly, "I hope to see you return with the boy.