"Well," said the old lady, "as she is here, though sorely against my approbation—still, as she is here we must give her a becoming welcome, I suppose. You may bring her to my room to-morrow morning."
"Thank you, grandma, dear; that is just what I would like to do," replied the young lady.
Accordingly, the next morning Mrs. Fanning was conducted by Emma to the "Throne Room," as Electra had saucily designated the old lady's apartment.
Madam Cavendish was dressed with great care, in a fine black cashmere wrapper, lined and trimmed with black silk, and a fine white lace cap, trimmed with white piping.
And old Moll, also in her best clothes, stood behind her mistress's chair.
The old lady meant to impress "the tavern-keeper's widow" with a due sense of reverence.
But the gentlewoman's heart was a great deal better than her head. And so, when she saw the girl whom she had once known a brilliant, rich-complexioned brunette, with raven hair and sparkling eyes and queenly form changed into a woman, old before her time, pale, thin, gray and sorrow-stricken, her heart melted with pity, and she held out her hand, saying, kindly:
"How do you do, Katie, my dear? I am very sorry to see you looking in such ill-health. You have changed very much from the child I knew you, twenty-five years ago."
"Yes," said Mrs. Fanning, as she took and pressed the venerable hand that was held out to her. "I have changed. But there is only one more change that awaits me—the last great one."
"Moll, wheel forward that other easy-chair. Sit down at once, my poor Katie. You look ready to drop from weakness. Emma, my child, pour out a glass of that old port wine and bring it to your aunt. You will find it in that little cabinet," said Madam Cavendish, speaking to one and another in her hurry to be hospitable and to atone for the hard thoughts she had cherished and expressed toward this poor suffering and desolate woman.