“I do mind now, Master Luke; and methinks it was the least I could say.”
“Well, Mistress Margaret, if you will say as much every time I carry your basket, I care not how often I bear it, nor how far.”
“Nay, nay,” said Margaret, colouring faintly. “I would not put upon good nature, You are young, Master Luke, and kindly. Say I give you your supper on Saturday night, when you bring the linen home, and your dawn-mete o' Monday; would that make us anyways even?”
“As you please; only say not I sought a couple o' diets! for such a trifle as yon.”
With chubby-faced Luke's timely assistance, and the health and strength which Heaven gave this poor young woman, to balance her many ills, the house went pretty smoothly awhile. But the heart became more and more troubled by Gerard's long, and now most mysterious silence.
And then that mental torturer, Suspense, began to tear her heavy heart with his hot pincers, till she cried often and vehemently, “Oh, that I could know the worst.”
Whilst she was in this state, one day she heard a heavy step mount the stair. She started and trembled, “That is no step that I know. Ill tidings?”
The door opened, and an unexpected visitor, Eli, came in, looking grave and kind.
Margaret eyed him in silence, and with increasing agitation,
“Girl.” said he, “the skipper is come back.”