"My dear, it's my robber!"
"It's what?"
"My robber! He's the young man I told you of who was so suspiciously civil to me on the train. I can never look him in the face--never!" Saying which, she opened her bright eyes and walked straight up to Keith, holding out her hand. "Confess that you are a robber and save me."
Keith laughed and took her hand.
"I know you took me for one." He turned to Mrs. Wentworth and described her making him count her bundles.
"You will admit that gentlemen were much rarer on that train than ruffians or those who looked like ruffians?" insisted the old lady, gayly. "I came through the car, and not one soul offered me a seat. You deserve all the abuse you got for being so hopelessly unfashionable as to offer any civility to a poor, lonely, ugly old woman."
"Abby, Mr. Keith does not yet know who you are. Mr. Keith, this is my cousin, Miss Brooke."
"Miss Abigail Brooke, spinster," dropping him a quaint little curtsy.
So this was little Lois's old aunt, Dr. Balsam's sweetheart--the girl who had made him a wanderer; and she was possibly the St. Abigail of whom Alice Yorke used to speak!
The old lady turned to Mrs. Wentworth.