And, as if to overthrow his last good resolution, the image of Christie, radiant, dazzling, and beautiful, as he had beheld her first, in the bright flush of the fading sun light, arose before him, and once again passion conquered.
He approached and entered the cottage.
Mrs. Tom sat near the window, spinning and singing to herself. Willard's eyes wandered around in search of another; but bright Christie was not to be seen.
The widow arose, smiling, to welcome her guest, and placed a chair for him near herself. And still Willard's eyes went wandering round the room.
"She will appear presently," he thought, not yet liking to inquire for her.
"What a venerable-looking affair your wheel is, Mrs. Tom," he said, surveying it, with its hard polished wood and bright brass rings.
"Yes, it's as old as the hills," said Mrs. Tom, resuming her work; "and has been in our family since the flood. I think I spun on that there wheel all the yarn that makes the socks, mittens, and comforters for half the county round; besides making sheets, blankets, and lots of other things for ourselves," said Mrs. Tom, with conscious pride.
"You deserve a premium for industry, Mrs. Tom," said Willard.
"Well, you may be jokin' now, and I dare say you are; but it is true, for all that. Many a true word is spoke in jest, you know," said Mrs. Tom, as her wheel went merrily round. "There ain't many women in this place o' my age and means, can do, or does do more work than me, though I say it as hadn't oughter. I knit, and spin, and sew, wash, brew, bake, sow, and reap, and fifty other things, too numerous to mention, besides. Carl, if I go out there I'll put an end to your lazin', you idle, good-for-nothin' vagabone, you!" she added, breaking off in sudden wrath, as she espied Carl, leaning on the spade with which he should have been digging in the garden.
"You should make Carl do these things, Mrs. Tom," said Willard, still impatiently watching the door and wondering why Christie did not come.