"Mr. Lyon will not begrudge me the use of the carriage and horses and driver as brought me here, to take me back to my husband's death-bed, I reckon," said the old woman confidently.
"No, indeed; nor any help I can give you, dear Mrs. Winterose," said Mr. Berners, feeling himself appealed to.
"Thanky, sir; I knowed it. And this I say: When the breath is outen my poor old man's body I will come back to my child, holding it always more dutiful to attend to the living as can suffer, rather than to the dead as are at rest. And now, if you please, Mr. Lyon, to see me into the carriage, and order Joe to drive me home, I will be obleeged to you," said the old woman.
Lyon Berners gave her his arm, with as much respect as if she had been a duchess, and led her from the room.
When they reached the outer door, which the warden, in consideration of the necessity, ordered to be opened at this unusual hour, they found the rain pouring in torrents from a sky as black as pitch.
"A wild night to take the road, Mrs. Winterose," said Mr. Berners, as he hoisted a large umbrella over her head.
"I don't know as I remember a wilder one, sir, since the flood of ninety, and that was when I was a young 'oman, which wasn't yesterday. And you'll hardly remember that, sir?"
"No," answered Lyon, hurrying her into the carriage and hastily clapping to the door.
The turnkey on duty that night went with the carriage to unbar the outer gate for it to pass. Notwithstanding his large umbrella he came back drenched with rain.
"Good Lord! an't it comin' down? Another Noah's flood! Bird Creek is boiling like a pot. It is all up in a white foam! so white that you can see it through the darkness; and listen! you can hear it from here!" said the turnkey as he entered the hall, shook himself, making a rain shower around him, and proceeded to bar the entrance again.