ena--a young lady, daughter of a
deceased naval officer, who had been brought up by her uncle, a
solicitor, and had refused Darton in marriage years ago--the passionate,
almost angry demeanour of Sally at discovering them, the abrupt
announcement that Helena was a widow; all this coming together was a
conjuncture difficult to cope with in a moment, and made him question
whether he ought to leave the house or offer assistance. But for Sally's
manner he would unhesitatingly have done the latter.

He was still standing under the tree when the door in front of him
opened, and Mrs. Hall came out. She went round to the garden-gate at the
side without seeing him. Darton followed her, intending to speak.

Pausing outside, as if in thought, she proceeded to a spot where the sun
came earliest in spring-time, and where the north wind never blew; it was
where the row of beehives stood under the wall. Discerning her object,
he waited till she had accomplished it.

It was the universal custom thereabout to wake the bees by tapping at
their hives whenever a death occurred in the household, under the belief
that if this were not done the bees themselves would pine away and perish
during the ensuing year. As soon as an interior buzzing responded to her
tap at the first hive Mrs. Hall went on to the second, and thus passed
down the row. As soon as she came back he met her.

'What can I do in this trouble, Mrs. Hall?' he said.

'O--nothing, thank you, nothing,' she said in a tearful voice, now just
perceiving him. 'We have called Rebekah and her husband, and they will
do everything necessary.' She told him in a few words the particulars of
her son's arrival, broken in health--indeed, at death's very door, though
they did not suspect it--and suggested, as the result of a conversation
between her and her daughter, that the wedding should be postponed.

'Yes, of course,' said Darton. 'I think now to go straight to the inn
and tell Johns what has happened.' It was not till after he had shaken
hands with her that he turned hesitatingly and added, 'Will you tell the
mother of his children that, as they are now left fatherless, I shall be
glad to take the eldest of them, if it would be any convenience to her
and to you?'

Mrs. Hall promised that her son's widow should he told of the offer, and
they parted. He retired down the rooty slope and disappeared in the
direction of the inn, where he informed Johns of the circumstances.