They stood face to face. Elizabeth's eyes were full of tears, but Fru Beck's feelings were not at that moment so easily expressed. She silently pressed Elizabeth's hand, and her manner, and the expression of her pale face, showed that she was not the less moved of the two at their meeting again.
Elizabeth showed her into Mother Kirstine's comfortable little kitchen, where a saucepan of broth for her sick aunt was simmering over the fire. She invited her visitor to take a seat. It was so quiet that they could hear the watch ticking in the next room where her aunt was sleeping.
Neither spoke for a moment or two. Then Fru Beck asked in a low voice—
"How is your aunt, Elizabeth?"
It was a natural question to ask under the circumstances, but it was felt by both to be only a preliminary breaking of the ice; she had, besides, sent a messenger that morning already to make inquiries.
"Thank you, Fru Beck, she is improving," Elizabeth replied. "She is asleep now, and that will do her good."
"It is a long time since we saw each other—nearly eighteen years," said
Fru Beck, and her eyes dwelt upon Elizabeth as if to find what traces
time had left upon her. "But you have kept strong, I see—stronger than
I have."
"It was that morning I left for Holland," said Elizabeth, seeming to recall it with a certain pleasure.
"I have often thought of that time," whispered Fru Beck, more to herself almost than to the person she was talking to. Her lip trembled slightly, and Elizabeth read an expression of mute sorrow in her face. She was on the point of telling Elizabeth that she knew the reason of her going; but after debating for a moment within herself whether she should or not, finally let it pass.
"Ah! if we could only see into the future, Elizabeth!" she exclaimed with a sigh, and looked sadly at her, as if she thought she had given expression to a feeling that must be common to them both.