Charles (eating and speaking). My comrades are gone on to the village beyond with their knapsacks, to get them owned by the families of them to whom they belonged, as it stands to reason and right. Pray, mistress, as you know the folks here-abouts, could you tell me whose knapsack this is, here, behind me? (looking up at Catherine.)—Oons, but how pale she looks! (aside). Here, sit ye down, do. (Aside) Why, I would not have said a word if I had thought on it—to be sure she has a lover now, that has been killed in the wars. (Aloud) Take a sup of the cold milk, mistress.
Catherine (goes fearfully towards the knapsack). ‘Tis his! ‘tis my husband’s!
{She sinks down on a chair, and hides her face with her hands.}
Charles. Poor soul! poor soul!—(he pauses.) But now it is not clear to me that you may not be mistaken, mistress:—these knapsacks be all so much alike, I’m sure I could not, for the soul of me, tell one from t’other—it is by what’s in the inside only one can tell for certain. (Charles opens the knapsack, pulls out a waistcoat, carries it towards Catherine, and holds it before her face.)—Look ye here, now; don’t give way to sorrow while there’s hope left—Mayhap, mistress—look at this now, can’t ye, mistress?
{Catherine timidly moves her hands from before her face, sees the waistcoat, gives a faint scream, and falls back in a swoon. The peasant runs to support her.—At this instant the back door of the cottage opens, and ALEFTSON enters.}
Aleft. Catherine!
Charles. Poor soul!—there, raise her head—give her air—she fell into this swoon at the sight of yonder knapsack—her husband’s—he’s dead. Poor creature!—‘twas my luck to bring the bad news—what shall we do for her?—I’m no better than a fool, when I see a body this way.
Aleft. (sprinkling water on her face.) She’ll be as well as ever she was, you’ll see, presently—leave her to me!
Charles. There! she gave a sigh—she’s coming to her senses.
{Catherine raises herself.}