and followed her, and darted an eager glance into the little room, with its narrow bed, the portrait of Wesley on the wall, and the few books lying on the large Bible. He had had an irrational hope that Hetty might be there. He could not speak in the first moment after seeing that the room was empty; an undefined fear had seized him—something had happened to Hetty on the journey. Still, the old woman was so slow of speech and apprehension, that Hetty might be at Snowfield after all."
"It's a pity ye didna know," she said. "Have ye come from your own country o' purpose to see her?"
"But Hetty—Hetty Sorrel," said Adam, abruptly; "where is she?"
"I know nobody by that name," said the old woman, wonderingly. "Is it anybody ye've heared on at Snowfield?"
"Did there come no young woman here—very young and pretty—Friday was a fortnight, to see Dinah Morris?"
"Nay; I'n seen no young woman."
"Think; are you quite sure? A girl, eighteen years old, with dark eyes and dark curly hair, and a red cloak on, and a basket on her arm? You couldn't forget her if you saw her."
