“No, no; you are a far better apostle than your clergyman. Besides, I have business at home, and must return. Good morning, Miss Rothesay.”
He lifted his hat with a courtly grace, but his eyes showed that reverence which no courts could command—the reverence of a sincere man for a noble-hearted woman. And so he walked back into the forest.
CHAPTER XXX.
The dwelling which Miss Rothesay entered was one of the keeper's cottages, built within the forest. The door stood open, for the place was too lowly, even for robbers; and, besides, its inmates had nothing to lose. Still, Olive thought it was wrong to leave a poor bedridden old woman in a state of such unprotected desolation. As her step was heard crossing the threshold, there was a shrill cry from the inner room.
“John, John—the lad!—hast thee found the lad?”
“It is not your son—'tis I. Why, what has happened, my good Margery?” But the poor old creature fell back and wrung her hands, sobbing bitterly.
“The lad!—dun ye know aught o' the lad? Poor Reuben!—he wunnot come back no more! Alack! alack!”
And with some difficulty Olive learnt that Margery's grandson, the keeper's only child, had gone into the forest some days before, and had never returned. It was no rare thing for even practised woodsmen to be lost in this wild, wide forest; and at night, in the winter time there was no hope. John Dent had gone out with his fellows, less to find the living than to bring back the dead.
Filled with deep pity Olive sat down by the miserable grandmother; but the poor soul refused to be comforted.