"Goodness gracious, what's the matter now?" cried the strong-minded maiden, pointing her case-knife toward the old lady, "one would think she'd seen a bear or a painter! What is it now, do tell?"
Aunt Hannah did not reply, but sat down in uncle Nat's arm-chair in silence. Mary looked up with strange confusion in her eyes; she fancied that the cause of aunt Hannah's agitation might be the same that had filled her own mind with forebodings, and her look was eloquent of sympathy.
Salina failing to obtain an answer, rushed into the front room, still grasping her knife, and thrust her head out of the window.
A travelling carriage was passing rather slowly, which contained three persons, two ladies and a gentleman. The ladies leaned forward, looking out toward the house. Never were two faces more strongly contrasted than those; the elder, pale, withered and thin, glanced out from a rather showy travelling bonnet for an instant, and was drawn back again; the other, dark, sparkling and beautiful, was turned with a look of eager interest toward the house, and as Salina gazed after the carriage, a little gloved hand was waved toward her, as if a recognition or adieu were intended.
"Well now, I never did, if that isn't—no—yes—goodness me—it is
Miss Farnham!"
Back ran the maiden to the kitchen, untying her apron as she went. She flung the case-knife upon the table, and began vigorously dusting the flour from her hands.
"Where's my own bonnet? where's my shawl? I must be going—aunt
Hannah, now do guess who was in that are carriage."
"I know!" answered the old woman, in a hoarse voice.
Mary Fuller sat motionless, with her eager eyes on Salina, and her lips gently parted. Thus she looked the question her lips refused to utter.
"Yes, it's them, Mary. The old woman, Mr. Frederick and"—