“What is the matter with him, then?” thoughtlessly persisted Frank.
Without reply, the girl dropped her eyes, and blushing deeply, turned away. Setting the candle down upon the table, she took a pail of water and went up the ladder, and into the loft. After an absence of a few minutes, she returned, and said—
“If you will go up stairs now, you will find two suits of grandfather’s and Carl’s Sunday clothes. They are not fine, but they are clean and dry.”
Our wet and jaded travellers thanked their young hostess, and prepared to accept her offer.
“And if,” she added, “you would like to rest after so much fatigue, there is a bed.”
They reached the loft, and found it a small, low place, with a little window, and a little, clean bed. On the bed lay the two suits of homespun, and two coarse towels. And on a stool near, sat a pail of water and a tin basin.
“I do believe that little girl has given us her own sanctuary. What a dear little thing she is!—so full of courage, and shyness, too! If she were two or three years older, and a great deal prettier, I could fancy myself writing poetry about her,” said Frank.
Clifton made no comment—he was engaged in divesting himself of his wet garments, and thinking about—Miss Clifton.
When they had refreshed themselves by washing and changing their dress, Frank threw himself upon the bed, stretched out his limbs luxuriously, and declared that the rustic’s clothes were very loose and comfortable, and his own position truly delightful. Captain Clifton walked to the window, and looked out at the storm, which was now abating.
Frank was already sound asleep.