Nevertheless, when this dwindled ghostly Laura appeared, and began to flit through the low-ceiled room and dark passages of the farm—carefully avoiding any talk about herself or her story—always cheerful, self-possessed, elusive—the elder woman began after a little to have strange stirrings of soul towards her. The girl's invincible silence, taken with those physical signs of a consuming pain that were beyond her concealment, worked upon a nature that, as far as all personal life and emotion were concerned, was no less strong and silent. Polly saw with astonishment that fires were lit in the parlour at odd times—that Laura might read or practise. She was amazed to watch her mother put out some little delicacy at tea or supper that Laura might be made to eat.
And yet!—after all these amenities, Mr. Bayley would still be asked to supper, and Laura would still be pelted and harried from supper-time till bed.
To-night when Laura returned, Mrs. Mason was in a muttering and stormy
mood. Daffady had angered her sorely. Laura, moreover, had a letter from
Bannisdale, and since it came there had been passing lights in Miss
Fountain's eyes, and passing reds on her pale cheeks.
As the girl approached her cousin, Mrs. Mason turned upon her abruptly.
"Dostha want the cart to-morrow? Daffady said soomat aboot it."
"If it could be spared."
Mrs. Mason looked at her fixedly.
"If Aa was thoo," she said, "Aa'd not flutter ony more roond that can'le!"
Laura shrank as though her cousin had struck her. But she controlled herself.
"Do you forget my stepmother's state, Cousin Elizabeth?"