“But I am lost without my needles and thread. Besides, I do not like to leave my workbox about. I will go for it. The walk will do me good.”
“Nonsense, it is falling dark.”
“I will get Uncle Zachie to walk back with me. I must have my workbox. Besides, the fresh air will do me good, and the fog has lifted.”
“As you will, then.”
So Judith put on her cloak and drew a hood over her head and went back to Polzeath. She knew the way perfectly, there was no danger, night had not closed in. It would be a pleasure to her to see the old bird-stuffer’s face again, and she wanted to find Jamie. She had not seen him nor heard his voice, and she supposed he must be at Polzeath.
On her arrival at the double cottage, the old fellow was delighted to see her, and to see that she had recovered from the distress and faintness of the morning sufficiently to be able to walk back to his house from her new home. Her first question was after Jamie. Uncle Zachie told her that Jamie had breakfasted at his table, but he had gone away in the afternoon and he had seen no more of him. The fire was lighted, and Uncle Zachie insisted on Judith sitting by it with him and talking over the events of the day, and on telling him that she was content with her position, reconciled to the change of her state.
She sat longer with him than she had intended, listening to his disconnected chatter, and then nothing would suffice him but she must sit at the piano and play through his favorite pieces.
“Remember, Judith, it is the last time I shall have you here to give me this pleasure.”
She could not refuse him his request, especially as he was to walk back to Pentyre with her. Thus time passed, and it was with alarm and self-reproach that she started up on hearing the clock strike the half-past, and learned that it was half-past nine, and not half-past eight, as she supposed.
As she now insisted on departing, Mr. Menaida put on his hat.