Asahel had gone to ride as far as the mountain's foot with his father and brothers; and Winifred knelt down beside her mother to lean her head upon her; they could not get near enough just then. It was only to help each other weep, for neither could comfort the other nor be comforted, for a time. Yet the feeling of the two, like as it seemed outwardly, was far unlike within. In the child it was the spring flood of a little brook, bringing, to be sure, momentary desolation; in the mother it was the flow of the great sea, still and mighty. And when it grew outwardly quiet, the same depth was there.
They got into each other's arms at last, and pressed cheek to cheek and kissed each other many times; but the first word was Mrs. Landholm's, saying,
"Come — we had better go and get tea — Asahel will be back directly."
Asahel came back in good spirits, having had his cry on the road, and they all took tea with what cheerfulness they might. But after tea Winifred sat in the chimney corner gazing into the fire, very still and pale and worn-looking; her sober blue eyes intently fixed on something that was not there. Very intently, so that it troubled her mother; for Winifred had not strength of frame to bear strong mind-working. She watched her.
"What, mamma?" said the little girl with a half start, as a hand was laid gently and remindingly upon her shoulder.
"I should rather ask you what," said her mother tenderly.
"Rest, daughter, can't you?"
"I wasn't worrying, mamma."
"Wa'n't you?"
"I was thinking of 'They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.'"
"Why, dear?"