"Did 'ee know me as I knew 'ee, yesterday when I came here and—and found 'ee here, Allan?"
"Yes, I knew you, I knew you, Betty. Once before in a dream you came to me here in this same place and I cannot understand why it should have been so. No, I cannot understand."
"And it du frighten me terribul, terribul, it du. How did I know your name were Allan? How dared—dared I call 'ee Allan, seeing you be my lady's husband and my master, and yet I could not help myself, the name did come from my lips wi'out my knowing it."
"And you never saw me before?"
"Aye, many, many times."
He was startled. "You knew me, Betty, you had seen me before, but when, where?"
"Here, here in this place, in this garden, but 'ee was so different then. Grandmother was angry wi' me for coming, she said I were a bad maid to come here into this old garden, all weed grown and ramy-shackle that it were, but I came often—often—and then I used to see—'ee here, Allan, oh sir." She paused.
"Go on," he said. "Go on, Betty." And still held her quivering hands.
"But 'twas not as a fine gentleman as I did see 'ee," she went on, seeming to gain a little in confidence, though her voice was still tremulous, "'ee wore a queer old hat and brown clothes and—and stockings, and heavy shoes wi' brass buckles to 'em, sir, and for the most part 'ee was working in the garden, digging sometimes, sometimes at work wi' hoe or rake, but always working, bending over the flower beds 'ee were, and never, never did I see your face, sir, yet when I did see your face, I knew it for 'ee."
"Go on, go on."