"No, sir, he's not," replied Molly, dropping another and more assured curtsey. There was something about the stranger's voice and straightforward glance which quieted her fears. "My master and mistress are both gone out for the day, and won't be home till night."
This seemed a poser for the stranger. He looked at Molly, and Molly looked at him. "It is very unfortunate," he said at length. "I have come a great many hundred miles, and reckoned very much upon seeing my old friend Freeman. I shall be leaving England again in a few days."
Molly opened her eyes. "Come a great many hundred miles, all to see master!" she exclaimed.
"Not to see him," answered the stranger, with a smile at Molly's simplicity—not that he looked like a smiling man in general, but a very sad one. "I had to come to England on business, and I travelled a long way to get here, and shall have to travel the same long way to get back again. I have come from London on purpose to see Mr. Freeman. It is many years since we met, and I thought, if quite agreeable, I would sleep a couple of nights here. Did you ever happen to hear him mention an old friend of his, named Daw?"
The name struck on Molly's memory: it was a somewhat peculiar one. "Well, yes, I have, sir," she answered. "I have heard him speak of a Mr. Daw to my mistress. I think—I think—he lived somewhere over in France, that Mr. Daw. And he was a clergyman. My master lighted upon a lady's death a short time ago in the paper, while I was in the parlour helping my missis with some bed-furniture, and he exclaimed and said it must be Mr. Daw's wife."
"Right—right in all," said the gentleman. "I am Mr. Daw."
He took a small card-case from his pocket, and held out one of its cards to Molly; deeming it well, no doubt, that the woman should be convinced he was really the person he professed to be. "I can see but one thing to do," he said, "you must give me house-room until Mr. Freeman comes home this evening."
"You are welcome, sir. But my goodness! there's nothing in the house for dinner, and I'm in the midst of a big wash."
He shook his head as he walked into the parlour—a sunny apartment, redolent of mignonette, boxes of which stood outside the windows. "I don't in the least care about dinner," he carelessly observed. "A crust of bread, a little fresh butter, and a cup of milk, will do as well for me as anything more substantial."
Molly left him, to see what she could do in the way of entertainment, and take counsel with herself. "If it doesn't happen on purpose!" she ejaculated. "Anything that upsets the order of the house is sure to come on washing day! Well, it's no good worrying. The wash must go. If I can't finish to-day, I must finish to-morrow. I think he's what he says he is; and I've heard them red umbrellas is used in France."