“Dornton,” said Mr Forrest absently—“Dornton is the same dull little hole of a town I remember it then.”
“Oh,” said Anna in a disappointed voice.
“There’s a fine old church, though, and the river’s nice enough. I used to know every turn in that river.—Well,” rising abruptly and leaning his arm against the mantel-piece, “it’s a long while ago—a long while ago—it’s like another life.”
“Used you to stay often at Waverley?” Anna ventured to ask presently.
Mr Forrest had fallen into a day-dream, with his eyes fixed on the ground. He looked up when Anna spoke as though he had forgotten her presence.
“It was there I first met your mother,” he said, “or rather, at Dornton. We were married in Dornton church.”
“Oh,” said Anna, very much interested, “did mother live at Dornton? I never knew that.”
“And that reminds me,” said Mr Forrest, taking a leather case out of his pocket, and speaking with an effort, “I’ve something I want to give you before you go
away. You may as well have it now. To-morrow we shall be both in a hurry. Come here.”