“My son, when he is at home. He is absent now, my lady: and see, this is the only place;—no place for you, my lady.”
Lady Carse shrank back impatiently. She then turned and said, “I might have this larger room, and you the other. I shall find means of paying you—”
“Impossible, madam,” the widow replied. “I am obliged to occupy this room.”
“For to-night, at least, you will let me have it. I cannot go back to Macdonald’s to-night. I will not go back at all; and you cannot turn me out to-night. I have other reasons besides those I mentioned. I must be in sight of the harbour. It is my only hope.”
“You can stay here, if you will, madam: and you can have that bed. But I can never leave this room between dark and light. I have yonder lamp to attend to.”
“Oh! I will attend to the lamp.”
The widow smiled, and observed that she hoped the lady would have better sleep than she could enjoy if she had the lamp to watch; and that was a business which she could not commit to another hand. In the course of the argument, the lady discovered that it would be a serious matter to let out both the fire and lamp, as there was no tinder-box on the island, and no wood, except in the season of storms, when some was drifted up wet.
“I should like to live with you, and help you to keep up your lamp,” said the lady. “If you could only manage a room for me— Not that I mean to stay in this island! I will not submit to that. But while I am waiting to get away, I should like to spend my time with you. You have a heart. You would feel for me.”
“I do feel for you, madam. This must be a terrible place for you, just to-day,—and for many days to come. But oh! my lady, if you want peace of mind, this is the place! It is a blessing that may be had anywhere, I know. One would think it shone down from the sky or breathed out from the air,—it is so sure to be wherever the sky bends over, or the air wraps us round. But of all places, this is the one for peace of mind.”
“This!—this—dreary island!”