? 'Tis but a very little while back Ruth turned fifty."

"Is my girl turned of fifty, then?--yes! it must be so. Fifty years past
I landed ashore in Hobart Town, and it was a babe of four I had to leave
behind. Well--I was a bit older. I was fifty-seven when I lost my son."
This seemed to mean the death of some son unknown to Granny Marrable.
The convict was never farther from her mind. "'Tis twenty-five years I
have been in England--all of twenty-five years, Phoebe."

"Oh, God have pity on us all! Twenty-five years!" It was a cry of pain
turned into words. Had she had to say what stung her most, she would
probably have said the thought that Maisie might have seen her
daughter's wedding, or at least the babyhood of her children. So much
there was to tell!--would she live to hear it? And so much to
hear!--would she live to tell it? She could not understand her sister's
words that followed:--"All of twenty years alone," referring to the
period since her son's transportation. It was really longer. But memory
of figures is insecure in hours of trial.

Maisie continued:--"When I came back, I went straight to our old home,
long ago--to Darenth Mill, to hear what I might, and old Keturah was
dead, and her husband was dead, and ne'er a soul knew aught to tell me.
And there was father's grave in the churchyard, and no other. So what
could I think but what the letter said, that all were drowned in the
cruel sea, your husband Nicholas, and my little one, all three?"

"And the letter said that--the letter he made up?"

"The letter said that, and I read it. It had black seals, and I broke
them and read it. And it was from father, and said you were drowned ...
drowned ... Yes!--Phoebe drowned ... and my little Ruth, and ... Oh,
Phoebe, how can this be you?" The panic came again in her voice, and
again she clutched spasmodically at the hand she held. But it passed,
leaving her only able to speak faintly. "I kept it in my
table-drawer.... It must be there still." She had only half got the
truth.

Granny Marrable tried to make it clear, so far as she could. "You
forget, dear. Her ladyship has the letter, and Dr. Nash knows. Lady
Gwendolen who brought you here...."

It was a happy reference. A light broke over the old face on the pillow,
and there was ease in the voice that said:--"She is one of God's Angels.
I knew it by her golden hair. When will she come?"

"Very soon. To-morrow, perhaps. 'Twas her ladyship told you--was it no