The clouds
were thick and the days were short, so that by the time he stood in
front of the mansion it was dark. In addition to this his
appearance, which on alighting from the carriage had been
untarnished, partook now of the character of a drenched wayfarer not
too well blessed with this world's goods. He halted for no more
than a moment at the front entrance, and going round to the
servants' quarter, as if he had a preconceived purpose in so doing,
there rang the bell. When a page came to him he inquired if they
would kindly allow him to dry himself by the kitchen fire.
The page retired, and after a murmured colloquy returned with the
cook, who informed the wet and muddy man that though it was not her
custom to admit strangers, she should have no particular objection
to his drying himself; the night being so damp and gloomy.
Therefore the wayfarer entered and sat down by the fire.
'The owner of this house is a very rich gentleman, no doubt?' he
asked, as he watched the meat turning on the spit.
''Tis not a gentleman, but a lady,' said the cook.
'A widow, I presume?'
'A sort of widow. Poor soul, her husband is gone abroad, and has
never been heard of for many years.'
'She sees plenty of company, no doubt, to make up for his absence?'
'No, indeed--hardly a soul. Service here is as bad as being in a
nunnery.'
In short, the wayfarer, who had at first been so coldly received,
contrived by his frank and engaging manner to draw the ladies of the
kitchen into a most confidential conversation, in which Laura's
history was minutely detailed, from the day of her husband's
departure to the present.
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