'Yes; he will not be very long of coming now. I bring his kind remembrances to you.'
'Then I must away to meet him!' she exclaimed, in a joyful tone of voice, and springing up from her straw chair, she rushed towards the door.
'Wait a moment, Cecil!' cried the other woman, throwing aside her work, 'and let me go with you.' She winked to me, and put her finger to her head, to inform me in dumb show that her companion was wrong there.
'Mother,' she exclaimed aloud, knocking hastily at the kitchen-door; 'there is some one here--come, will you, for we are going out!' She then ran after the wanderer, who was already beyond the little court-yard.
The old woman came in. I did not recognize her, but guessed, rightly enough, that she was the unfortunate girl's mother. Years and sorrow had made sad havoc on her appearance. She did not seem to remember me either, but after a civil 'Welcome--pray, sit down,' she asked the usual question, 'May I be permitted to know where you are from, good sir?'
I told her; and also reminded her that I had been her guest some years ago.
'Good Lord!' she exclaimed, clasping her hands, 'is it you? Pray, take a seat at the table while I got some refreshment for you.'
Though I was very eager to hear all the particulars of what had caused poor Cecilia's sad situation, yet a presentiment that some great calamity had happened, and a feeling of respect for the old woman's grief, restrained me from at once asking what I wished, yet dreaded, to hear.
'Is your husband not at home?' was my first inquiry.
'My husband!' she exclaimed. 'Our Lord has taken him long since--alas! It is now three years, come Michaelmas next, that I have been a widow. But, pray eat something--it is homely fare--but don't spare it.'