CHAPTER XXVIII.
The Goldsmith Comes to Town the Second Time.
Tresco stood in the yellow light of the paraffin lamp, and gazed in wonderment at Gentle Annie. He was a tattered and mournful object; his boots worn out, his trousers a marvel of patchwork, his coat a thing discoloured and torn, his hair and beard unshorn, himself a being unrecognisable by his former friends.
Gentle Annie’s attitude betokened the greatest surprise. With her hands on her bosom, her lips parted, her cheeks pale, her eyes frightened, she stood, and timidly returned the gaze of the strange man before her.
“What do you want?” she asked, so soon as she could find her voice. “Why do you come here?”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Benjamin reassuringly. “First, let me tell you that I’m your friend and protector. Do you forget Tresco the goldsmith?”
Gentle Annie gave vent to a little cry of astonishment.
“I am an outlaw,”—he spoke as if he were defending himself before his peers—“an outcast, a hunted dog. My own house is unsafe, so I came here for protection and a little comfort.” He dropped suddenly into quite a sentimental tone of voice. “I haven’t spoken to a soul, save my lad, for over six weeks. I’m a bit lonesome and miserable; and I badly need a well-cooked meal.”
“But if you stop here”—Gentle Annie’s ample bust rose and fell with agitation—“the police will catch you.”
“They’d think of looking for me in the moon before they came here, my dear; besides I have no intention of stopping. I only want rest and food.”