As they came toward the rear of the house they saw Martha leave the kitchen, which was a separate building, and enter the back door of Mrs. Harcourt’s room, bearing a well laden dinner tray in her hands.
“Does my mother always take her meals alone?” Harcourt inquired, as they entered the rear door of the hall.
“Yes, always; not only from necessity, but from choice. She is too feeble to sit up at the table, and too disinclined to motion to walk to the dining-room.”
As Margaret spoke the front door opposite to them opened, and Mr. Wynthrop and his eldest son, Silas, entered the hall.
Mr. Wynthrop was a tall, gaunt, dark man, with black hair, cut rather short, and black goatee, both well streaked with silver.
His son was also tall and thin, but fair, like his mother and sisters.
Both men were clothed in rough, serviceable suits of brown cheviot.
On seeing Margaret, and recognizing the visitor who was with her as Harcourt, both men came up with outstretched hands and hearty words of welcome.
“Glad to see you,” spoke both in a breath.
“When did you arrive?” inquired the elder.