“And now the way is plain for all of us—at last.” Her voice was trembling.
It was like Marcia Haddon to stand erect, her features controlled, though tears dropped from her eyes. And it was like Polly Pendleton to grasp both her hands and kiss her, when, sobbing, she fumbled for her small belongings as she turned to go.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE SEEKING
THE unusual sounds of the street still came to the ears of all in the little village, but Marcia Haddon, agitated, held to her own room and tried to rest, to forget. She was aroused by the sudden advent of Granny Williams herself.
“Come on out here, Ma’am,” said that worthy. “I want ye to meet Davy’s granny—old Granny Joslin. She’s come down to talk things over to-day. Them two young wimmern has went away. They said they couldn’t stay, so I sont ‘em over to the blacksmith’s to stop. So set down an’ talk to Davy’s granny, Ma’am.”
Marcia was not prepared for the vision that met her gaze. Old Granny Joslin was old, very much older even than Granny Williams, more bent, less active, more afflicted by the blows of life and fate. Indeed, of late, Granny Joslin had seemed to all scarce so savage as of old, a trifle more bent than she had been in all her life before. Her eye was less fierce, as now she took the young woman’s hand in her own skinny, horny palm and looked into her eyes as straight as a hawk might.