"I have heard," said Morton, "of such a name in Germany."
"Then bide a wee bit where ye are, friend; or stay,—gang round by the back o' the house, and ye'll find a laigh door; it's on the latch, for it's never barred till sunset. Ye 'll open 't,—and tak care ye dinna fa' ower the tub, for the entry's dark,—and then ye'll turn to the right, and then ye'll hand straught forward, and then ye'll turn to the right again, and ye 'll tak heed o' the cellarstairs, and then ye 'll be at the door o' the little kitchen,—it's a' the kitchen that's at Milnwood now,—and I'll come down t'ye, and whate'er ye wad say to Mistress Wilson ye may very safely tell it to me."
A stranger might have had some difficulty, notwithstanding the minuteness of the directions supplied by Ailie, to pilot himself in safety through the dark labyrinth of passages that led from the back-door to the little kitchen; but Henry was too well acquainted with the navigation of these straits to experience danger, either from the Scylla which lurked on one side in shape of a bucking tub, or the Charybdis which yawned on the other in the profundity of a winding cellar-stair. His only impediment arose from the snarling and vehement barking of a small cocking spaniel, once his own property, but which, unlike to the faithful Argus, saw his master return from his wanderings without any symptom of recognition.
"The little dogs and all!" said Morton to himself, on being disowned by his former favourite. "I am so changed that no breathing creature that I have known and loved will now acknowledge me!"
At this moment he had reached the kitchen; and soon after, the tread of Alison's high heels, and the pat of the crutch-handled cane which served at once to prop and to guide her footsteps, were heard upon the stairs,—an annunciation which continued for some time ere she fairly reached the kitchen.
Morton had, therefore, time to survey the slender preparations for housekeeping which were now sufficient in the house of his ancestors. The fire, though coals are plenty in that neighbourhood, was husbanded with the closest attention to economy of fuel, and the small pipkin, in which was preparing the dinner of the old woman and her maid-of-all-work, a girl of twelve years old, intimated, by its thin and watery vapour, that Ailie had not mended her cheer with her improved fortune.
When she entered, the head, which nodded with self-importance; the features, in which an irritable peevishness, acquired by habit and indulgence, strove with a temper naturally affectionate and good-natured; the coif; the apron; the blue-checked gown,—were all those of old Ailie; but laced pinners, hastily put on to meet the stranger, with some other trifling articles of decoration, marked the difference between Mrs. Wilson, life-rentrix of Milnwood, and the housekeeper of the late proprietor.
"What were ye pleased to want wi' Mrs. Wilson, sir? I am Mrs. Wilson," was her first address; for the five minutes time which she had gained for the business of the toilet entitled her, she conceived, to assume the full merit of her illustrious name, and shine forth on her guest in unchastened splendour. Morton's sensations, confounded between the past and present, fairly confused him so much that he would have had difficulty in answering her, even if he had known well what to say. But as he had not determined what character he was to adopt while concealing that which was properly his own, he had an additional reason for remaining silent. Mrs. Wilson, in perplexity, and with some apprehension, repeated her question.
"What were ye pleased to want wi' me, sir? Ye said ye kend Mr. Harry Morton?"
"Pardon me, madam," answered Henry, "it was of one Silas Morton I spoke." The old woman's countenance fell.