“Did you see her?” said Luke, hoarsely. “Yes, my boy. I had to go to Churchwarden Portlock about some skins, and he took me into the room where she was, and she shook hands. Poor girl, poor girl, she’s strange and changed.”
“Changed, father?”
“Yes; old and careworn, and as if she’d suffered a deal of trouble.”
Luke Ross’s head went down upon his breast, and his voice was almost inaudible as he said—
“What is her trouble now?”
“You have heard nothing, then, my boy?”
“No, father, nothing.”
“Not that the wine merchant’s business has all come to bankruptcy?”
“No, father; but I am not surprised. He will always be a beggar. That is her trouble, then. She is back home?”
“Oh, no, my boy; she is in London. She would not leave her husband. Churchwarden Portlock came up with her, for it is a terrible trouble this time.”