“Don’t talk of her, George. She is my mother, and I can only say with Hamlet, ‘Would it were not so!’ but you will see her, and explain my sudden departure in the best way possible.”
“Yes, I will see her. Not only for that, but because I believe she is in some way involved in this mystery regarding the young creatures so fatally connected with us.”
“She denies it positively.”
“This may be true in all else. But I know that her persecution drove Catharine to the hospital.”
“I do not doubt it. But she never knew Louisa. Besides, I do not think she would deliberately wound me—her own son.”
“We will not urge the question further,” answered George, suppressing the indignation that arose in his heart against his enemy. “She is a woman, and your mother.”
“True, true, so let us talk more directly of ourselves, for we have but an hour.”
CHAPTER LXV.
THE WASHERWOMAN’S INTRUSION.
A light knock came to the door, which softly opened, and a woman appeared bearing a long basket full of clean linen on her arm.
“I hope I’m not too late for yer honor,” she said, placing her basket on a chair, and wiping the perspiration from her face. “It’s a long walk from yon, and, do what I would, the time went by quicker ’an I ever seed it.”