“No, sir, I am not afraid. I know every step of the road, but I am not so young as I was once, and it tires me to walk,” the woman replied, with a weary note in her voice, accompanied by a heavy sigh.
“Have you far to go?” the young man asked.
“No, only to the second house from here—to Farmer Bruce’s.”
“Ah! You are going to Mr. Bruce’s. I have just come from there. I will turn about and see you safely to the house; or, if you could manage to sit on a man’s saddle, you shall ride, and I will lead my horse,” Geoffrey said, kindly; for now that he had been accustomed to the dim light he could discern that the woman looked worn and weary, and his sympathies were enlisted for her.
“No, no; thank you, sir, I will not trouble you,” the woman returned. “But tell me,” she continued, rising and coming toward his side, “is Farmer Bruce still alive? Is the family well?”
Something in her anxious tone and her agitated manner, as well as these questions, sent a sudden thrill through the young man’s heart.
He bent and looked searchingly into her face, which was upraised to his.
“Yes, Farmer Bruce is living. You said you were on your way home. Do you belong to the family?” he asked.
“No—I—I used to live near them; I have come for a visit,” was the confused reply.
Geoffrey bent still nearer to her, when the woman suddenly uttered a startled cry, and laid her hand upon his arm.