She came out presently, and
said half hesitatingly, "Would you--mind--going out in the orchard
for an hour or so? You seem to be rather in the way here, and I
should like the place to myself, if you'll excuse me for saying so.
I'm ever so much more capable than Mrs. Buck; won't you give me a
trial, sir? Here's your violin and your hat. I'll call you if you
can help or advise me."
"But I can't let a stranger come in and do my housework," he
objected. "I can't, you know, though I appreciate your kindness all
the same."
"I am your nearest neighbour, and your only one, for that matter,"
said Lyddy firmly; "it's nothing more than right that I should look
after that sick child, and I must do it. I haven't got a thing to do
in my own house. I am nothing but a poor lonely old maid, who's been
used to children all her life, and likes nothing better than to work
over them."
A calm settled upon Anthony's perturbed spirit, as he sat under the
apple-trees and heard Lyddy going to and fro in the cottage. "She
isn't any old maid," he thought; "she doesn't step like one; she has
soft shoes and a springy walk. She must be a very handsome woman,
with a hand like that; and such a voice!--I knew the moment she spoke
that she didn't belong in this village."
As a matter of fact, his keen ear had caught the melody in Lyddy's
voice, a voice full of dignity, sweetness, and reserve power. His
sense of touch, too, had captured the beauty of her hand, and held it
in remembrance--the soft palm, the fine skin, supple fingers, smooth
nails, and firm round wrist.
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