She had just entered the
wood when two advancing figures caught her attention. The path was so
narrow that they were walking one behind the other.
"Ah! there he is--and John Dulan is with him," exclaimed the mother as
they drew near.
The foremost man was indeed John Dulan, who held out his hand as they
met.
"Ah! how do you do, John? How do you do? This is so kind of you! But,
stand aside--excuse me--I want to see that youth behind you!" and the
widow brushed past him, and caught to her bosom--old Ben, the
ferryman.
"My gracious! I thought you were my son! Dear me, how absurd!"
exclaimed the widow, releasing him.
"Let us go on to the cottage, aunt," said John Dulan, sadly.
"Yes, do. I am looking every minute for William. Oh, you can tell me,
Uncle Ben--did he reach the ferry last night?"
"Yes, madam," groaned the old man.
"Why, you alarm me! Why didn't he come home, then?"
"He did try--he did try! I begged him not to--but he would! Oh, dear!
oh, dear!"
"Why, what in Heaven's name is the matter? What has happened? Is my
son ill?"
"Tell her, Mr. Dulan--tell her! I could not, to save my life!"
The widow turned very pale.
"Where is William? Where is my son? Is he ill? Is he ill?"
"My dearest aunt, do try to compose yourself!" said John Dulan, in a
trembling voice.
Pages:
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285