“Let me see. The seventh, I think. Yes—the seventh,” she stammered, raising her eyes to his face.
He was so muffled up, that nearly all Rachel could see of him was a pair of very large dark eyes, under a curious-looking hat. He wore a long cloak reaching to his heels, and one end of the cloak was flung over his left shoulder almost concealing his face.
Rachel scarcely knew why she thought him so old, except perhaps, that his figure seemed to be much bent.
“Quite right. It’s the seventh,” he returned. “And what’s the name of your house?”
Rachel looked round for Miss Moore, who strangely enough was still reading the inscription on the stone, and seemed to be paying no attention to the old man’s questions.
“It’s called ‘The Seven Gables,’” she answered.
“And where are you living now?”
“At number seven Cranborough Terrace.”
“And your name is Rachel. Do you read your Bible? How many years did Jacob work for his wife?”
“He waited for her seven years. And her name was Rachel,” she exclaimed, forgetting to wonder why Miss Moore didn’t interfere, or join in a conversation which was becoming so interesting.