David’s response was to open the door instantly.
Something at once staggered in, and sank down on the bench:—something which looked at first sight more like a statue of white marble than a human being, so thick lay the snow over the wrappers which enfolded it. But when David had succeeded in unfolding the wrappers, and brushing off the snow, they discovered that their visitor was a woman, and that in her arms a child lay clasped, either dead or sleeping.
The moment that Christian perceived so much as this, she hastily rose, throwing her poor mantle over her, and drew near to the stranger.
“Poor soul, you’re heartily welcome,” she said, “whoever you are. We have little beside a roof to offer you, for we have scarcely food or raiment ourselves, nor money to buy either; but such as we have we will give you with all our hearts.”
“May the Blessed bless you!” was the faint answer. “Don’t you know me, Ruth?”
“Know you!” Christian studied the face of her unexpected guest. “Nay, I do almost believe—Countess! Is it you?”
“Ay.”
“Whatever has brought you to this? The richest Jewess in Reading! Have you, too, become a Christian like us?”
Countess did not give a direct answer to that direct question.
“I am not poor now,” she said. “I can find you money for food for us all, if you will suffer me to stay here till the storm has abated, and the roads can be travelled again.”