“He’s not here, darlin’,” said the old woman, —­ “and ye needn’t ha’ started from him. —­ O cold face, and white face! —­ what ha’ you done with yourself, Winnie, to run away from him so?  Ye needn’t ha’ feared him.  Poor lamb! —­ poor white lamb! —­”

The girl sat down on the floor and laid her face on Karen’s lap, where the still tears ran very fast.

“Poor white lamb!” said the old woman, tenderly laying her wrinkled hand on Winnie’s fair hair, —­ “Ye haven’t eat a crumb —­ Karen’ll fetch you a bit? —­ ye’ll faint by the way —­”

Winnie shook her head.  “No —­ no.”

“What did you run away for?” Karen went on.  “Ye run away from your best comfort —­ but the Lord’s help, Winnie; —­ he’s the strongest of us all.”

But something in that speech, Karen could not divine what, made Winnie sob convulsively; and she thought best to give up her attempts at counsel or comforting.

The wearied and weakened child must have needed both, for she wept unceasingly on Karen’s knees till late in the night; and then in sheer weariness the heavy eyelids closed upon the tears that were yet ready to come.  She slumbered, with her head still on Karen’s lap.

“Poor lamb!” said Karen when she found it out, bending over to look at her, —­ “poor lamb! —­ she’ll die of this if the Governor can’t help her, —­ and she the Lord’s child too. —­ Maybe best, poor child! —­ maybe best! —­ ’Little traveller Zion-ward’ —­ I wish we were all up at those gates, O Lord! —­”

The last words were spoken with a heavy sigh, and then the old woman changed her tone.

“Winnie! —­ Winnie! —­ go to bed —­ go to bed!  Your mother’d say it if she was here.”

Winnie raised her head and opened her eyes, and Karen repeating her admonition in the same key, the child got up and went mechanically out of the room, as if to obey it.

It was by this time very late in the night; the rest of the inmates of the house had long been asleep.  No lights were burning except in the room she had left.  But opening the door of the kitchen, through which her way lay to her own room, Winnie found there was a glimmer from the fire, which usually was covered up close; and coming further into the room, she saw some one stretched at full length upon the floor at the fireside.  Another step, and Winnie knew it was Winthrop.  He was asleep, his head resting on a rolled-up cloak against the jamb.  Winnie’s tears sprang forth again, but she would not waken him.  She kneeled down by his side, to look at him, as well as the faint fireglow would let her, and to weep over him; but her strength was worn out.  It refused even weeping; and after a few minutes, nestling down as close to him as she could get, she laid one arm and her head upon his breast and went to sleep too.  More peacefully and quietly than she had slept for several nights.