"No, I did not like to ask questions at first."
"Then you know absolutely nothing?"
"Nothing yet!"
"But you have seen the old house. It should be visible from this hollow!"
"Not now, madam. The orchard has grown round since—since——"
"Have the saplings grown into trees since then, Jacob? Indeed it seems but like yesterday to me," said the lady, with a sad wave of the hand. "I thought to get a view of the house from this spot, just as one ponders over the seal of a letter, afraid to read the news within. Let me sit down, I feel tired and faint."
Jacob moved back from the stone, and tears absolutely came into his eyes as she sat down.
"How strangely familiar everything is," said the lady, looking around, "this tuft of white flowers close by the stone—it scarcely seems to have been out of blossom since I was here last, I remember. But why have you crushed them with your feet, Jacob?"
"Because I remember!" answered the man, removing his heavy foot from the bruised flowers, and regarding them with a stern curve of the lip, which on his irregular mouth was strangely impressive. The lady raised her eyes, filled with vague wonder, to his features. Jacob was troubled by that questioning glance.
"I never loved flowers," he faltered.