I suppose Lizzie’s view of things, being the simplest, had power over me. I was struck by this way of regarding it. Perhaps I had not just been thinking of what was sent. I felt as if that tight binding over my heart relaxed a little. Ah! so well as the Sender knew all about it—all my loneliness, dismay, and troubles; all my Harry’s risks and dangers; all our life beyond—inscrutable dread life which I dared not attempt to look at—and everything that was in it. I held my breath, and was silent in this wide world that opened out to me through Lizzie’s words.
“And eh, mem,” cried Lizzie, opening her eyes wide, “I was sent for down the stair.”
“Where?” cried I in astonishment.
“I was sent for down the stair,” said Lizzie, with the oddest blush and twist of her person. “Menico, he’s aye been awfu’ ill at me since I wouldna gang to the playhouse after it was a’ settled—as if I could gang to play mysel’ the very day the news came! and eh, when he came up and glowered in at the door, and Mrs. Goldsworthy beside him, and no a person but me in oor house, I was awfu’ feared. Her being English, they were like twa foreigners thegither; and how was I to ken what they were wantin’? The only comfort I had was mindin’ upon the Captain’s sword. It was aye like a protection. But a’ they said was that Mrs. Goldsworthy would stop beside baby, and I was to gang down the stair and speak to the gentleman. I thought shame to look as if I was feared—but I was awfu’ feared for a’ that.”
“And what then?”
“I had to gang,” said Lizzie, holding down her head; “he was sleeping sound, and I kent I could hear the first word of greetin’ that was in his head; I could hear in ony corner o’ the house; and Mrs. Goldsworthy gied me her word she would sit awfu’ quiet and not disturb him. Eh, mem, are ye angry? I never did it afore, and I’ll never do it again.”
“No, you must not do it again,” said I; “but who wanted you downstairs?”
“Eh, it was the Italian gentleman,” said Lizzie; “and it was a’ about the leddy that was here the day. He wanted to ken if she was wanting him; and then he wanted to hear if I kent her, and what friend she was to you; but it was mostly a’ to make certain that it wasn’t him she wanted—as if a leddy like yon was likely to have ony troke wi’ foreigners or strange men! and there was aye the other blatter to Menico in their ain language—and ower again, and ower again to me, if it wasna him she asked for. And me standing close at the door listening for baby, and thinking shame to be there, and awfu’ feared you would be angry. I would like to ken what the like of him had to do wi’ leddies?—and Menico, too, that might have kent better—but there’s naebody will behave to please folk perfect in this world.”
“But this is very strange news,” said I. “What did you say, Lizzie? did you say it was Miss Mortimer, and that she was a relation of mine.”
“Eh, no me!” cried Lizzie. “Ye might think it to see me so silly, but I wasna that daft. I said it was ane on a visit to the leddy. I had nae ado with it ony mair than that, and I’m sure neither had he.”