“As often as ever I can, dear Father,” said Annas: and as he turned back, and we drove away, she broke down as I had never imagined Annas would do.
We slept that night at the inn at Hawick. On the Saturday morning, my Uncle Drummond left us, and we went on to Carlisle, which we reached late at night. Here we were to stay with Dr and Mrs Benn, friends of Father’s, who made much of us, and seemed to think themselves quite honoured in having us: and Sam went off at once on a fresh horse to Brocklebank, which he hoped to reach by midnight. They would be looking for him. I charged him with all sorts of messages, which he said grimly that he would deliver if he recollected them when he got there: and I gave him a paper for my Aunt Kezia, with a list of things I would have sent.
On Sunday we went to the Cathedral with our hosts, and spent the day quietly.
But on Monday morning, what was my astonishment, as I was just going into the parlour, to hear a familiar voice say—
“Did you leave your eyes at Abbotscliff, my dear?”
“Aunt Kezia!” I cried.
Yes, there stood my Aunt Kezia, in her hood and scarf, looking as if only an hour had passed since I saw her before. I was glad to see her, and I ventured to say so.
“Why, child, did you think I was going to send my lamb out into the wilderness, with never a farewell?”
“But how early you must have had to rise, Aunt Kezia!”
“Mrs Kezia, this is an unlooked-for pleasure,” said the Doctor, coming forward. “I could never have hoped to see you at this hour.”