I crept hitherward only to ask about
Priscilla; and now that you have told me such good news, perhaps I
can do no better than to creep back again. If she were to see this
old face of mine, the child would remember some very sad times which
we have spent together. Some very sad times, indeed! She has
forgotten them, I know,--them and me,--else she could not be so happy,
nor have a bloom in her cheeks. Yes--yes--yes," continued he, still
with the same torpid utterance; "with many thanks to you, Mr.
Hollingsworth, I will creep back to town again."
"You shall do no such thing, Mr. Moodie," said Hollingsworth bluffly.
"Priscilla often speaks of you; and if there lacks anything to make
her cheeks bloom like two damask roses, I'll venture to say it is
just the sight of your face. Come,--we will go and find her."
"Mr. Hollingsworth!" said the old man in his hesitating way.
"Well," answered Hollingsworth.
"Has there been any call for Priscilla?" asked Moodie; and though his
face was hidden from us, his tone gave a sure indication of the
mysterious nod and wink with which he put the question. "You know, I
think, sir, what I mean."
"I have not the remotest suspicion what you mean, Mr. Moodie,"
replied Hollingsworth; "nobody, to my knowledge, has called for
Priscilla, except yourself. But come; we are losing time, and I have
several things to say to you by the way."
"And, Mr. Hollingsworth!" repeated Moodie.
"Well, again!" cried my friend rather impatiently.
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