“Why, mother, I fancied you were sleeping,” said Reuben.
“Fancies are well enough for night-time, Reuben, but they don’t last long after dawn. I stretched i’ my sleep, I did, an’ I saw th’ light twinkling on the panes, an’ I bethought me like, that th’ farm work needed looking to. So I stepped down an’ out.”
“You might have waked me.”
“Nay, ye were sleeping oversound. Mathewson was niver much of a man, but even he was snappish when I wakened him from his sleep.”
It was in this way that she chose to meet the future. There would be no more stolen vigils under the rowan-tree, no undermining of her courage. With a sudden gust of feeling, she understood that Gaunt was the only living hope she had to rest upon—and there was danger to him.
“Reuben,” she said gravely, “th’ long watch has begun. The days will seem long i’ passing afore we know we’re safe.”
“We’ll weather them, never fear. Best not think of to-morrow at all, but get on with our work.”
The widow glanced at him with keen scrutiny. “There’s a deal o’ sense hidden somewhere about ye, Reuben. Seems ye’ve been feared to let it peep out till now.”
CHAPTER XXI
NEITHER Gaunt nor Widow Mathewson was prepared for the quiet and temperate beauty that crept into their waiting-time at Ghyll. If Gaunt had neglected his farm work in old days, it was through idleness, not from lack of knowledge. Acquaintance with all details of field and stable had been bred in him, and the widow watched him go about the usual round of work with growing wonder.