“Let me introduce myself and this young lady, madam——”
“Who are you, then?” abruptly interrupted the housekeeper.
“This is the young lady of the manor. You will probably recognize her when you look at her, though I hear you have not seen her since she was seven years old. I have the honor to be her husband, and my name is Lindsay,” replied the young man.
“Gra-cious Heav-ens!” cried the woman, lowering the candle, and holding it closely under the stranger’s nose, to the great danger of his silky beard.
“Look at me, Mrs. Brent, and see if you can remember me,” said Gloria, with a smile.
The candle was quickly transferred from the danger of singeing David’s mustache to that of scorching Gloria’s nose, as the old housekeeper peered into the girl’s face.
“Ye-es. N-no. I don’t know. I see something in the eyes like, but——”
The old woman stopped and put the candle so close to the girl’s brow that Gloria started and shrank back.
“Pray do not keep the young lady standing out here in this bitter cold. She is already chilled and weary. Let us come in. We expected to find you at the house yonder. But that being shut up and deserted, we must beg shelter from you even here,” persisted David Lindsay.
“Oh, yes, to be sure. Come in. I did not get your letter, indeed I did not, sir, or I should have been ready for you. But you see Wolf’s Gap—that’s the nearest post-office—is a long way off, and we never send there except four times a year, when Mr. Cummings, the overseer, sends in his quarterly reports. I didn’t get your letter to say you were coming. I am very sorry, ma’am, that there is nothing better than this poor house to ask you to, but such as it is, you are welcome,” said Mrs. Brent, as she led the young pair into a large room, in which a great fire of hickory logs smouldered luridly in the deep, broad chimney-place.