reboding, which
forbids tears to old eyes, but holds the worn heart like a vise. Thus,
with her eyes fixed on the dusty road, she sat till all those bright
clouds melted into the coming night; then she looked up and saw the
great red flag streaming out against a sea of purplish gray, as it had
done when she was a girl, seventy years ago.

"My lady is alive. She is there. Oh! my God! make me thankful!" she
exclaimed, standing up in the road. "Through all, I shall see her
again."

So she moved on, carrying a leathern travelling bag, worn and rusty, in
her feeble hand. Along the highway, up to the gates of that noble park,
she travelled with the slow, toilsome step of old age; but when she came
to the gates they were closed, and her voice was so feeble that it
failed to reach the lodge, from which she could see lights gleaming
through the twinkling ivy leaves.

In patient disappointment the old woman turned from the gate, and walked
on half a mile farther, for she knew of a small public house where a
night's lodging could be obtained. She reached this low stone building
after dark, and entered it quietly, like a gray ghost.

It was a strange guest to enter that tap-room, with her dusty garments
and her old satchel. The villagers, who were taking their beer
comfortably, lifted their eyes in astonishment at her sudden appearance,
and they rounded with wonder, as she passed through the room and entered
the kitchen naturally, as if she had belonged to the premises all her
life.

No one in the house remembered the old woman. A curly-headed girl named
Susan, had flitted like a bird about that kitchen the last time she had
entered it, and now, when a man's voice called out "Susan!" she started
and looked around in a dazed way, expecting the bright eyed girl would
come dancing through the door. But instead appeared an elderly woman,
with quantities of coarse black hair, smoothed under her cap. A linen
apron, large and ample, protected her stuff dress, and a steel
chatelaine, to which were suspended scissors, a needle case and tiny
money box rattled at her side.

"Well, what is to do now, Stephen?" said the landlady, brushing some
crumbs from her apron, for she had been cutting bread.

"Not much, only look sharp. Here is an old body just come off the tramp.
Ah, there she sits. See to her while I mind the bar, for she seems a
little above the common, and is quiet."

The landlord sank his voice as he made the communication,