"No, no, ma'am. It's not that. I'm very sorry if by my manner I raised
any false hopes."
"That you certainly did not, my good Dymock," said the old lady grimly.
"But--would you see Mrs. Twiss, ma'am? She's going from home I believe."
"Going from home--she who never leaves her own cottage! Yes, I will see
her," and in another moment the neat old woman was making her curtsey at
the door.
"Come in, come in, Barbara," said Grandmamma. "And so you are off
somewhere? How is that? Ah, if I were as strong and well as you, I think
I would be tempted to set off on my travels to look for my lost
darlings. It is the staying here waiting and doing nothing that is so
dreadful, my good friend."
And Grandmamma's voice quavered with the last words. It was not the
first time she had seen Barbara since the children's disappearance, for
they were old friends, and the cake woman had hurried up to Arbitt Lodge
at once on hearing of the sad trouble that had befallen its inmates, to
express her concern and see if maybe she could be of any use.
"Yes, indeed, ma'am. I can well understand it," she said. "How you bear
up as you do is just wonderful. I'm sure I can't get it out of my mind
for a moment. I keep seeing them as they passed by that last afternoon.
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