“He is dead,” said I, in a low, sad voice, as she hesitated.
“Yes,” she returned, clasping her hands but without any of the wild look in her eyes now. “We have mourned him as dead for many, many years. Stay, I will call his—but—perhaps—sometimes it is kindness to conceal. If there is anything sad to tell, might it not be well to leave his poor mother in ignorance? She is old and—”
“No, madam,” I interrupted, “that may not be. I have a message from him to his mother.”
“A message! Then you knew him?”
“No; I never saw him.”
“Strange! You have a message from him, yet never saw him. Can you not give me the message, to convey it to her? She is getting frail and a shock might be serious. I am William Liston’s cousin, and have come to take care of my aunt, and manage her farm.”
“The message, by Mr Liston’s wish,” said I, “was to be delivered by me to his mother. I will be very careful to deliver it gently.”
“Well, I will bring her to you. She usually comes out about this time to enjoy the sunset. I will trust to your discretion; but bear in remembrance that she is not strong. Forgive me,” she added, turning to my companions, “this surprise has made me forget my duty. Will your friends dismount?”
Eve at once dismounted, and shook the hand which the lady extended; but Big Otter sat quite still, like a grand equestrian statue, while the lady entered the house.
I saw that the poor girl was much agitated, but, true to her Indian training, she laid powerful constraint on herself.