But we must introduce the mother of Lilly to the reader. She was a tall, finely-featured woman, her arms beautifully moulded, and bare. She was rather inclined to be stout, but her figure was magnificent. She was dressed in the same costume as her daughter, with the exception of a net worsted shawl of many colours over her shoulders. Her appearance gave you the idea that she was never intended for the situation which she was now in; but of that hereafter. As the reader may have observed, her language was correct, as was that of the child, and proved that she had not only been educated herself, but had paid attention to the bringing up of Lilly. The most perfect confidence appeared to subsist between the mother and daughter: the former treated her child as her equal, and confided everything to her; and Lilly was far advanced beyond her age in knowledge and reflection; her countenance beamed with intelligence; perhaps a more beautiful and more promising creature never existed.
A third party now appeared from the cave; although not in canonicals, his dress indicated his profession of a priest. He approached the mother and daughter with, "Peace be with you, ladies."
"You forget, good father," replied the elder of the females, "my name is Alice--nothing more."
"I crave pardon for my forgetting who you were. I will be more mindful. Well, then, Alice--yet that familiar term sounds strangely, and my tongue will not accustom itself, even were I to remain here weeks, instead of but two days--I was about to say, that the affair of last night was most untoward. My presence is much wished for, and much required, at St Germains. It was unfortunate, because it proves that we have traitors among us somewhere; but of that, and of the whole affair, I will have cognizance in a few days."
"And should you discover the party?"
"His doom is sealed."
"You are right."
"In so important and so righteous a cause, we must not stop at aught necessary to secure our purpose. But, tell me, think you that your husband will soon be here again?"
"I should think not to-night, but to-morrow or the next he will be off; and if we can show the signals of surety he will land, if the weather will permit."
"'Tis indeed time that I were over. Something might now be done."