Page:The New Monthly Magazine - Volume 096.djvu/294

280 the young hosier himself a thriving and happy partner in the still flourishing concern; but, it was far otherwise.

Before I had crossed the threshold I heard a female's sweet voice singing what, at first, I took for a lullaby, or cradle-song, though the tone was so melancholy that my raised expectations at once fell considerably. I stood a moment and listened; the words of the song were mourning over hopeless love. They were simple, yet full of truth and sorrow, but my menwory only retains the two lines which formed the refrain:

With dark forebodings I pushed open the door. A stout, strong-looking, middle-aged woman, of the labouring class, who was carding wool, was the first on whom my eye fell; but it was not she who sang. The songstress had her back turned to me, she sat rocking herself rapidly backwards and forwards, and kept moving her hands as if she were spinning. The first-named arose and bade me welcome, but I hastened forwards to see the face of her companion. It was Cecilia—pale, but still beautiful. She looked up at me—ah! then I read insanity in the vacant, though shining eyes, in the inexpressive smile, in the whole mindless countenance! I also observed that she had no spinning-wheel before her, but that that which she was so busily turning mast have been made of the same material as Macbeth's dagger.

She suddenly stopped both her song and her airy wheel, and asked me hurriedly and eagerly, "Are you from Holstein? Did you see Esben? Is he coming soon?"

I perceived her state, and thinking it best to humour her, I answered without hesitation,

"Yes; he will not be very long of coming now. I bring his kind remembranees to you."

"Then I must away to meet him!" she exclaimed, in a joyful tone of voice, and springing up from her straw chair, she rushed towards the door.

"Wait a moment, Cecil!” cried the other woman, throwing aside her work, "and let me go with you." She winked to me, and put her finger to her head, to inform me in dumb show, that her companion was wrong there.

"Mother," she exclaimed aloud, knocking hastily at the kitchen-door; "there is some once here—come, will you, for we are going out!" She then ran after the wanderer, who was already beyond the little courtyard.

The old woman came in. I did not recognise her, but guessed, rightly enough, that she was the unfortunate girl's mother. Years and sorrow had made sad havoc on her appearance. She did not seem to remember me either, but after a civil "Welcome—pray, sit down," she asked the usual question, "May I be permitted to know where you are from, good sir?"

I told her; and also reminded her that I had been her guest some years ago.

"Good Lord!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands, "is it you? Pray, take a seat at the table while I get some refreshment for you."