“Miss Rob went Norf day ‘fore yestiddy,” was the answer, “an’ Mahs’ Junius done gone ’long to ‘scort her.  Who shall I tell Mahs’ Robert is come?”

“There is no need to tell him who I am,” said Mrs Keswick.  “Just take me in to him.  That’s all you have to do.”

A good deal doubtful of the propriety of this proceeding, but more doubtful of the propriety of opposing the wishes of such a determined-looking visitor, the woman stepped to the back part of the hall, and opened the door.  The moment she did so, Mrs Keswick entered, and closed the door behind her.

Mr Brandon was seated in an arm chair by a table, and not very far from a wood fire of a size suited to the season.  His slippered feet were on a cushioned stool; his eye-glasses were carefully adjusted on the capacious bridge of his nose; and, intent upon a newspaper which had arrived by that morning’s mail, he presented the appearance of a very well satisfied old gentleman, in very comfortable circumstances.  But when he turned his head and saw the Widow Keswick close the door behind her, every idea of satisfaction or comfort seemed to vanish from his mind.  He dropped the paper; he rose to his feet; he took off his eye-glasses; he turned somewhat red in the face; and he ejaculated:  “What! madam!  So it is you, Mrs Keswick?”

The old lady did not immediately answer.  Her head dropped a little on one side, a broad smile bewrinkled the lower part of her well-worn visage, and with her eyes half-closed, behind her heavy spectacles, she held out both her hands, the purple umbrella in one of them, and exclaimed in a voice of happy fervor:  “Robert!  I am yours!”

Mr Brandon, recovered from his first surprise, had made a step forward to go round the table and greet his visitor; but at these words he stopped as if he had been shot.  Perception, understanding, and even animation, seemed to have left him as he vacantly stared at the elderly female with purple sun-bonnet and umbrella, blue calico gown, red shawl and coarse boots, who held out her arms towards him, and who gazed upon him with an air of tender, though decrepit, fondness.

“Don’t you understand me, Robert?” she continued.  “Don’t you remember the day, many a good long year ago, it is true, when we walked together down there by the branch, and you asked me to be yours?  I refused you, Robert, and, although you went down on your knees in the damp grass and besought me to give you my heart, I would not do it.  But I did not know you then as I know you now, Robert, and the words of true love which you spoke to me that morning come to me now with a sweetness which I was too young and trifling to notice then.  That heart is yours now, Robert.  I am yours.”  And, with these words, she made a step forward.

At this demonstration Mr Brandon appeared suddenly to recover his consciousness and he precipitately made two steps backwards, just missing tumbling over his footstool into the fireplace.