When she disappeared, moving downward to the water, the old man spoke again:
“I will carry the boy home for you. Don’t be frightened. She is a wicked woman, but her day is over; she can insult nothing more!”
“Who is she?” inquired the widow, so anxiously that her question seemed abrupt.
“An evil woman, who has led an evil life,” he answered.
“Do not mention her. Drive her from the house. I charge you, never let that woman enter the presence of my child again,” interposed the old lady, who entered the room that instant.
“She never shall, mother, she never shall,” answered the husband. “Be pacified. She will not attempt to return.”
“She, who haunted my child into a madhouse, comes again like a fiend that will not be satisfied. Poor, poor Elsie, she will not speak to me. There she sits in a corner of her room, singing over that one word ‘alone, alone.’ Husband, husband, it is breaking my heart.”
“Be patient, wife. The woman has gone. Elsie will recover from this wild fit—do be patient!” he replied, soothingly.
“I will go to her. I will sit down by her side, and weep while she sings. I am old and weak. What else can I do but weep for my child.”
The old lady went out, making this mournful plaint, and her husband, with a troubled face, and slow, sad step, bore little Edward homeward. As he walked, the good man became composed; the little form pressed to his bosom gave bloom and life to his feelings; a glow of enthusiasm stole through his veins; and without knowing it, the old man grew strong in the young life given to his embrace.