At that instant there was a knocking at the door.
“Can you give us shelter from the storm, good folks?” said a voice; and, the latch being lifted, an elderly gentleman, accompanied by two ladies, one of whom was young and the other more advanced in life, appeared at the entrance.
They evidently took it for granted that they should not be denied.
“You are welcome, though you come to a house of mourning,” said Dame Lanreath, rising, while Nelly hastened to place stools for them to sit on.
“I am afraid, then, that we are intruders,” said the gentleman, “and we would offer to go on, but my wife and daughter would be wet through before we could reach any other shelter.”
“We would not turn any one away, especially you and Mistress Tremayne,” said the dame, looking at the elder lady.
“What! do you know us?” asked the gentleman.
“I know Mistress Tremayne and the young lady from her likeness to what I recollect of her mother,” answered Dame Lanreath. “I seldom forget a person I once knew, and she has often bought fish of me in days gone by.”
“And I, too, recollect you. If I mistake not you used to be pretty widely known as Polly Lanreath,” said the lady, looking at the old fish-wife.
“And so I am now, Mistress Tremayne,” answered the dame, “though not known so far and wide as I once was. I can still walk my twenty miles a-day; but years grow on one; and when I see so many whom I have known as children taken away, I cannot expect to remain hale and strong much longer.”