Bringing Bad Tidings
'A man should never be ashamed to own he has been in the wrong, which is but saying, in other words, that he is wiser to-day than he was yesterday.'—Pope.
It was towards the end of February that old Nannie sat by her fire in the peaceful almshouse in which she had taken shelter. Rain was falling fast, and when she heard a knock at her door, she hardly turned in her chair, for she thought it could be only one of her neighbours come for a chat.
When the new-comer came silently forward and stood in front of her, Nannie looked up with a gasp and a cry.
'Miss Gwen! My dear Miss Gwen, is it you? Where do you come from? And oh, how ill you look!'
Gwen bent over the old woman and kissed her; then she took a seat by her and gave a hard little laugh.
'Oh no, I am not ill. I wish I could be—at least, I am almost coward enough to wish it. I only landed early this morning in the London Docks. I have come from California, Nannie. Aren't you glad to see me?'
Gwen was clad in a plain dark blue serge and sailor hat, but somehow had not her habitual neat appearance. Her face was wan and white, she seemed to have aged ten years, and her once sparkling eyes were now dim and worn-looking.
'Just off a voyage,' murmured Nannie, putting on her spectacles and peering anxiously into her face. 'Ay, my dear, surely them foreign parts don't bring such change and misery to all the folks who venture out?'
Gwen laughed again.