And while they sat under the elder tree, and Morva helped Ann with her
churning, five miles away, on the wind-swept high road, a bent figure
was trudging along, with slow but steady footsteps, with the thought of
them all in her mind, and the sweet memory of home in her heart, but
with an earnest purpose in her eyes; to bring happiness and hope to her
old friend, to the man who in the days gone by had jilted her, and torn
her heart strings, who had won her love, but had married another woman,
and regretted it ever after.

It was Sara, who had risen with the first streak of dawn, and snatching
a hurried breakfast had left her foster-daughter asleep. She had
lifted the lid of the coffer and had taken out the best half of her
scarlet mantle, leaving the worn and faded half hanging Over the
spinning wheel. "Morva would understand," she thought, "and would wash
it and lay it away in the coffer until her return." A gown too she
wore, instead of her peasant dress, a gown of red and black homespun,
which had been her best when she was first married. On her head a
black felt hat, with low crown, and slouching brim over her full
bordered cap of frilled muslin. Strong shoes with bows on the instep,
her crutch stick in her hand, and a little bundle of clothes tied up in
a cotton handkerchief completed her outfit, and thus equipped she stole
silently to the bedside where Morva lay, flushed with the heavy sleep
of youth and health.

"My little daughter!" was all she said, but her eyes were full of tears
as she passed through the cwrt and took the sheep path which led to the
top of the moor. Reaching the brow of the hill she turned into a
narrow lane, over which the thorn bushes, just showing signs of their
budding greenery, almost met together. Under their branches she made