I was with her!'
'Yes. You were,' he said.
'Yes, sir,' returned Clemency. 'Yes, to be sure. This is my
husband, if you please. Ben, my dear Ben, run to Miss Grace - run
to Mr. Alfred - run somewhere, Ben! Bring somebody here,
directly!'
'Stay!' said Michael Warden, quietly interposing himself between
the door and Britain. 'What would you do?'
'Let them know that you are here, sir,' answered Clemency, clapping
her hands in sheer agitation. 'Let them know that they may hear of
her, from your own lips; let them know that she is not quite lost
to them, but that she will come home again yet, to bless her father
and her loving sister - even her old servant, even me,' she struck
herself upon the breast with both hands, 'with a sight of her sweet
face. Run, Ben, run!' And still she pressed him on towards the
door, and still Mr. Warden stood before it, with his hand stretched
out, not angrily, but sorrowfully.
'Or perhaps,' said Clemency, running past her husband, and catching
in her emotion at Mr. Warden's cloak, 'perhaps she's here now;
perhaps she's close by. I think from your manner she is. Let me
see her, sir, if you please. I waited on her when she was a little
child. I saw her grow to be the pride of all this place. I knew
her when she was Mr. Alfred's promised wife.
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