"I'm going to meet the next up-train," he answered, and began to tug at his reins, and chirrup at Dobbin.
They left him making great efforts to get under way again, and drove noiselessly on.
"What a peculiarly condensed sort of man he is in his speech!" remarked Miss Pembroke.
"Condensed!" exclaimed the other. "His talk reminds me of some one whose head and limbs have been cut off. It takes me by surprise, and leaves me astonished. I always feel as if something ought to be done."
So one carriage creaked into the alders, and the other sparkled up to the house door.
This door stood open, and within it sat an old woman, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes looking out over the water. She had a placid face, and looked refined. A sweet, faint smile greeted her visitors, and her voice was sweet, and was very low, as the voices of some deaf persons are.
"Elizabeth has gone out on the water," she said. "I will call her."
"Don't rise!" exclaimed Annette quickly, preventing her. "I'll get the horn for you. I know where everything is here."
The old lady understood the action, though she had not heard the words, and sank back into her seat again.
"She feels for everybody's pain," she said gratefully, speaking to herself.