“Well, Miss ’Lizabeth!” said Clam who met her at the door, —­ “where have you been!  Here’s Mis’ Haye been cryin’ and the tea-kettle singing an hour and a half, if it isn’t two hours.”

“Has Anderese come home?”

“Yes, and supper’s ready, and ‘taint bad, for Mis’ Landholm learned me how to do fresh mutton and cream; and it’s all ready.  You look as if you wanted it, Miss ’Lizabeth.  My! —­”

“There are some eggs and chickens down in the boat, Clam”

“In what boat, Miss ’Lizabeth?”

“In mine —­ down at the rocks.”

“Who fetched ’em?”

“I did, from Mr. Underhill’s.  You may bring them up to the house.”

Leaving her handmaid in an excess of astonishment unusual with her, Elizabeth walked into her guest’s room, where the table was laid.  Rose sat yet by the window, her head in her handkerchief on the window-sill.  Elizabeth went up to her.

“Rose —­”

“What?” said Rose without moving.

“Rose —­ look up at me —­”

The pretty face was lifted at her bidding, but it was sullen, and the response was a sullen “Well —­”

“I am very sorry I spoke to you so —­ I was very wrong.  I am very sorry.  Forgive me and forget it —­ will you?”

“It was very unkind!” —­ said Rose, her head going down again in fresh tears.

“It was very unkind and unhandsome.  What can I say more, but that I am sorry?  Won’t you forget it?”

“Of course,” said Rose wiping her eyes, —­ “I don’t want to remember it if you want to forget it.  I dare say I was foolish —­”

“Then come to supper,” said Elizabeth.  “Here’s the tea —­ I’m very hungry.”

CHAPTER XVI.

And Phant’sie, I tell you, has dreams that have wings,
And dreams that have honey, and dreams that have stings,
Dreams of the maker, and dreams of the teller,
Dreams of the kitchen, and dreams of the cellar. 
BEN JONSON.

A few days more passed; days of sameness in the house, while Autumn’s beautiful work was going on without, and the woods were changing from day to day with added glories.  It seemed as if the sun had broken one or two of his beams across the hills, and left fragments of coloured splendour all over.  The elm trees reared heads of straw-colour among their forest brethren; the maples shewed yellow and red and flame-colour; the birches were in bright orange.  Sad purple ashes stood the moderators of the Assembly; and hickories of gold made sunny slopes down the mountain sides.  All softened together in the distance to a mellow, ruddy, glowing hue over the whole wood country.

The two cousins sat by the two windows watching the fading light, in what used once to be the ‘keeping-room’ —­ Mrs. Haye’s now.  Elizabeth had been long looking out of the window, with a fixed, thoughtful, sorrowful, gaze.  Rose’s look was never fixed long upon anything and never betrayed her thoughts to be so.  It wavered now uneasily between her cousin and the broad and bright hills and river —­ which probably Mrs. Haye did not see.