death of her yet, if your name's Marwood,' said
the visitor.

'Have you seen my gal, then?' cried the old woman. 'Has she wrote to
me?'

'She said you couldn't read,' returned the other.

'No more I can!' exclaimed the old woman, wringing her hands.

'Have you no light here?' said the other, looking round the room.

The old woman, mumbling and shaking her head, and muttering to herself
about her handsome daughter, brought a candle from a cupboard in the
corner, and thrusting it into the fire with a trembling hand, lighted it
with some difficulty and set it on the table. Its dirty wick burnt dimly
at first, being choked in its own grease; and when the bleared eyes and
failing sight of the old woman could distinguish anything by its light,
her visitor was sitting with her arms folded, her eyes turned downwards,
and a handkerchief she had worn upon her head lying on the table by her
side.

'She sent to me by word of mouth then, my gal, Alice?' mumbled the old
woman, after waiting for some moments. 'What did she say?'

'Look,' returned the visitor.

The old woman repeated the word in a scared uncertain way; and, shading
her eyes, looked at the speaker, round the room, and at the speaker once
again.

'Alice said look again, mother;' and the speaker fixed her eyes upon
her.

Again the old woman looked round the room, and at her visitor, and round
the room once more. Hastily seizing the candle, and rising from her
seat, she held it to the visitor's face, uttered a loud cry, set down
the light, and fell upon her neck!

'It's my gal! It's my Alice! It's my handsome daughter, living and
come back!' screamed the old woman, rocking herself to and fro upon the
breast that coldly suffered her embrace. 'It's my gal! It's my Alice!
It's my handsome daughter, living and come back!' she screamed again,
dropping on the floor before her, clasping her knees, laying her head
against them, and still rocking herself to and fro with every frantic
demonstration of which her vitality was capable.

'Yes, mother,' returned Alice, stooping forward for a moment and kissing
her, but endeavouring, even in the act, to disengage herself from her
embrace. 'I am here, at last. Let go, mother; let go. Get up, and sit in
your chair. What good does this do?'

'She's come back harder than she went!' cried the mother, looking up in
her face, and still holding to her knees. 'She don't care for me! after
all these years, and all the wretched life