landing, which is the weakest part of gentlefolks. They must have
said 'Good-by' to one another quite in silence, and the Captain, as firm
a man as ever lived, had lines on his face that were waiting for tears,
if nature should overcome bringing up. Then I heard the words, 'for my
sake,' and the other said, 'for your sake,' a pledge that passed between
them, making breath more long than life is. But when your poor father
was by the back-door, going out toward the woods and coppices, he turned
sharp round, and he said, 'Betsy Bowen!' and I answered, 'Yes, at
your service, Sir.' 'You have been the best woman in the world,' he
said--'the bravest, best, and kindest. I leave my wife and my last child
to you. The Lord has been hard on me, but He will spare me those two. I
do hope and believe He will.'

"We heard a noise of horses in the valley, and the clank of swords--no
doubt the mounted police from Winchester a-crossing of the Moonstock
Bridge to search our house for the runaway. And the Captain took my
hand, and said, 'I trust them to you. Hide the clothes I took off, that
they may not know I have been here. I trust my wife and little babe to
you, and may God bless you, Betsy!'

"He had changed all his clothes, and he looked very nice, but a sadder
face was never seen. As he slipped through the hollyhocks I said to
myself, 'There goes a broken-hearted man, and he leaves a broken heart
behind.' And your dear mother died on the Saturday night. Oh my! oh my!
how sad it was!"

CHAPTER XXVI

AT THE BANK

In telling that sad tale my faithful and soft-hearted nurse had often
proved her own mistake in saying, as she did, that tears can ever be
exhausted. And I, for my part, though I could scarcely cry for eager
listening, was worse off perhaps than if I had wetted each sad fact as
it went by. At any rate, be it this way or that, a heavy and sore
heart was left me, too distracted for asking questions, and almost too
depressed to grieve.

In the morning Mrs. Strouss was bustling here and there and every where,
and to look at her nice Welsh cheeks and aprons, and to hear how she
scolded the butcher's boy, nobody would for a moment believe that her
heart was deeper than her skin, as the saying of the west country
is. Major Hockin had been to see me last night, for he never forgot a
promise, and had left me in good hands, and now he came again in the
morning. According to his usual way of taking up an opinion, he would