He did not now fear to appeal to his companion. Martha had grown kinder of late, and she confessed she had learned of her cousin what gives most comfort to those who are drawing near their journey's end. "I can help them a little," she said.
"We will all help a little," Alfred replied. "I shall be off at break of day to-morrow, on neighbor Collins's pony, and shall give him no rest until he sets me down at Uffeulme."
Accordingly, early next morning, Alfred Gray was riding briskly along through the pleasant green lanes which led toward his native village. It was the middle of June, bright, warm, sunny weather; and the young man's spirits was unusually gay, everything around him tending to heighten the delight which the good news he carried had inspired him with. The pony stepped out bravely, and was only checked when Alfred came in sight of the dear old home of his childhood, and heard the well-known chimes calling the villagers to their morning service, for it was Sunday. Then for a few moments the young man proceeded more slowly, and his countenance wore a more saddened look, as the blessed recollections of early loves and affections with which the scene was associated in his mind, claimed their power over all other thoughts. The voice of an old friend, from an apple-orchard hard by, recalled him from his reveries.
He shook hands through the hedge. "I will come and see you in the evening, Fred. I must hasten on now. She will go to church this morning, and I must go with her."
"Who?" asked the other.
Alfred pointed to the cottage where Susan Harvey dwelt. "I bring her good news—I have a letter. Martin is living and well."
The friend shook his head.
Alfred dismounted, and walked towards Susan Harvey's cottage. The door was closed, and when he looked through the window he could see no one inside. He lifted the latch softly and entered. There was no one there; but his entrance had been heard, and a moment after, a fine stout lad came out of the inner chamber, took Alfred's proffered hand, and in answer to his inquiries, burst into tears.
"She says she cannot live long, sir; but she told me last night, that before she died, you would come and tell us news of father. She has been saying all the past week that we should hear from him soon."
Whilst the boy spoke, Alfred heard a weak voice, calling his name from the inner room.