In the meantime the poor old woman who for so many years was the object
of their speculations and their sympathy, lived in all quietness and
humbleness at one end of her long house, and on fine Sundays edified the
congregation by coming to church. Not, however, on foot; her great age
made that too much an exertion for her. She was drawn by her one old
man-servant in a chair on wheels, her granddaughter and her grandson's
widow walking beside her, and her little great-grandson, Peter, who was
supposed to be her heir, bringing up the rear.

Old Madam Melcombe, as the villagers called her. She had a large frame,
but it was a good deal bowed down; her face was wrinkled, and her blue
eyes had the peculiar dimness of extreme old age, yet those who noticed
her closely might detect a remarkable shrewdness in her face; her
faculties were not only perfect, but she loved to save money, and still
retained a high value for, and a firm grip of, her possessions. The land
she left waste was, notwithstanding, precious to her. She had tied up
her gate that her old friends might understand, after her eldest son's
death, that she could not be tortured by their presence and their
sympathy; but she was known sometimes by her grand-daughters to enlarge
on the goodness of the land thereabouts, and to express a hope that when
Peter's guardians came into power, they would bring it under the plough
again. She went to church by a little footpath, and always conducted
herself with great decorum, though, twice or thrice during the reading
of the lessons, she had startled the congregation by standing up with a
scared expression of countenance, and looking about her while she leaned
on her high staff as if she thought some one had called her; but she was
in her ninety-fifth year, and this circumstance, together with the love
and pity felt for her, would easily have excused far greater
eccentricities.