"What, the son of James Burke, gamekeeper at the castle?"
"Why, did you know him, too?"
"Aye, that did I. A brave young fellow he was, and every one at the castle up yonder—"
The old woman checked herself. She had not intended to make herself known, but old recollections had thronged upon her so warmly, that it seemed impossible to keep silent.
"You speak of the castle as if you knew about it," said the landlady, eyeing her askance.
"And no wonder," answered the old woman; "people have told me about it, and I was in the neighborhood years ago, when you were a slip of a lass."
It was strange, but this old woman, since her entrance to that room, had fallen back upon phrases and words familiar to her lips once, but which had not made any part of her speech for years. There was a home sound in them that warmed her heart.
"Did ye ever know any of them up yonder?" asked the landlady, as she placed a broad porringer before the fire, and poured some milk into it.
"Yes. I have seen the countess, but it was long ago."
"May-be it was when the young lady was at home. Oh! them were blithe times, when young Lord Hope came a courting, and we could see them driving like turtle doves through the park and down the village; or, walking along by the hedges and gathering hyacinths and violets. It was a sorry time, though, when he took her away for good and all."