The nurse herself, in her gown and petticoat of dark print, and white cap bordered with narrow lace, and carefully-kept hood of black velvet, sat sewing by the fire, making shirts for her sailor son, then far away in a man-of-war, toiling upon the sea. Esther was alone, so there was no obstacle in the way of Anne’s errand.
“Esther,” she said, when she had delayed nervously for some time, in indifferent conversation, “I have come to ask you about a very grave matter, of which I only heard recently. A secret, Esther—you know—”
She paused. Esther looked up gravely in her face, and then, rising, closed the door.
“Mr. Norman?” she asked in a very low voice.
“Yes,” said Anne. “You know it all, Esther?”
“God be thanked that has put it in your heart to ask,” said the nurse, solemnly. “Yes, Miss Anne, I ken. It has been lying heavy on my heart since ever that cloud fell upon my boy. I have looked to you—I have aye looked to. Ye are like your mother, and will not falter. Oh, Miss Anne! if ye but kent how it has lain upon my heart!”
Anne looked at her inquisitively, uncertain how far her knowledge went, or whether it was safe to speak to her of Norman, as alive.
“Ye are doubtful of me, Miss Anne,” said Esther. “I see it in your eye. What of this story do ye ken yoursel? Have ye heard it all?”
Anne faltered.
“I do not know, Esther. I have heard—”