The woman's form was tall and spare: and when she stood up to welcome

me, I saw that she was straight as an arrow. Could that voice of

sweetness have issued from those lips of age? Mild as they were, could

they be the portals whence flowed such melody? But the moment I saw

her eyes, I no longer wondered at her voice: they were absolutely

young--those of a woman of five-and-twenty, large, and of a clear gray.

Wrinkles had beset them all about; the eyelids themselves were old, and

heavy, and worn; but the eyes were very incarnations of soft light. She

held out her hand to me, and the voice of sweetness again greeted me,

with the single word, "Welcome." She set an old wooden chair for me,

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near the fire, and went on with her cooking. A wondrous sense of refuge

and repose came upon me. I felt like a boy who has got home from school,

miles across the hills, through a heavy storm of wind and snow. Almost,

as I gazed on her, I sprang from my seat to kiss those old lips. And

when, having finished her cooking, she brought some of the dish she had

prepared, and set it on a little table by me, covered with a snow-white

cloth, I could not help laying my head on her bosom, and bursting

into happy tears. She put her arms round me, saying, "Poor child; poor

child!"

As I continued to weep, she gently disengaged herself, and, taking a

spoon, put some of the food (I did not know what it was) to my lips,

entreating me most endearingly to swallow it. To please her, I made an

effort, and succeeded. She went on feeding me like a baby, with one arm

round me, till I looked up in her face and smiled: then she gave me the

spoon and told me to eat, for it would do me good. I obeyed her, and

found myself wonderfully refreshed. Then she drew near the fire an

old-fashioned couch that was in the cottage, and making me lie down

upon it, sat at my feet, and began to sing. Amazing store of old ballads

rippled from her lips, over the pebbles of ancient tunes; and the voice

that sang was sweet as the voice of a tuneful maiden that singeth ever

from very fulness of song. The songs were almost all sad, but with a

sound of comfort. One I can faintly recall. It was something like this:

Sir Aglovaile through the churchyard rode;

SING, ALL ALONE I LIE:

Little recked he where'er he yode,

ALL ALONE, UP IN THE SKY.




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