"Sluggish hospitality this!" said he, in those deep tones of his, which seemed to come out of a chest as capacious as a barrel."It would have served you right if I had lain down and spent the night on the doorstep, just for the sake of putting you to shame.But here is a guest who will need a warmer and softer bed."And, stepping back to the wagon in which he had journeyed hither, Hollingsworth received into his arms and deposited on the doorstep a figure enveloped in a cloak.It was evidently a woman; or, rather, --judging from the ease with which he lifted her, and the little space which she seemed to fill in his arms, a slim and unsubstantial girl.As she showed some hesitation about entering the door, Hollingsworth, with his usual directness and lack of ceremony, urged her forward not merely within the entry, but into the warm and strongly lighted kitchen.
"Who is this?" whispered I, remaining behind with him, while he was taking off his greatcoat.
"Who? Really, I don't know," answered Hollingsworth, looking at me with some surprise."It is a young person who belongs here, however; and no doubt she had been expected.Zenobia, or some of the women folks, can tell you all about it.""I think not," said I, glancing towards the new-comer and the other occupants of the kitchen."Nobody seems to welcome her.I should hardly judge that she was an expected guest.""Well, well," said Hollingsworth quietly, "We'll make it right."The stranger, or whatever she were, remained standing precisely on that spot of the kitchen floor to which Hollingsworth's kindly hand had impelled her.The cloak falling partly off, she was seen to be a very young woman dressed in a poor but decent gown, made high in the neck, and without any regard to fashion or smartness.Her brown hair fell down from beneath a hood, not in curls but with only a slight wave; her face was of a wan, almost sickly hue, betokening habitual seclusion from the sun and free atmosphere, like a flower-shrub that had done its best to blossom in too scanty light.To complete the pitiableness of her aspect, she shivered either with cold, or fear, or nervous excitement, so that you might have beheld her shadow vibrating on the fire-lighted wall.In short, there has seldom been seen so depressed and sad a figure as this young girl's; and it was hardly possible to help being angry with her, from mere despair of doing anything for her comfort.The fantasy occurred to me that she was some desolate kind of a creature, doomed to wander about in snowstorms; and that, though the ruddiness of our window panes had tempted her into a human dwelling, she would not remain long enough to melt the icicles out of her hair.Another conjecture likewise came into my mind.Recollecting Hollingsworth's sphere of philanthropic action, I deemed it possible that he might have brought one of his guilty patients, to be wrought upon and restored to spiritual health by the pure influences which our mode of life would create.
As yet the girl had not stirred.She stood near the door, fixing a pair of large, brown, melancholy eyes upon Zenobia--only upon Zenobia!--she evidently saw nothing else in the room save that bright, fair, rosy, beautiful woman.It was the strangest look I ever witnessed; long a mystery to me, and forever a memory.Once she seemed about to move forward and greet her,--I know not with what warmth or with what words, --but, finally, instead of doing so, she dropped down upon her knees, clasped her hands, and gazed piteously into Zenobia's face.Meeting no kindly reception, her head fell on her bosom.
I never thoroughly forgave Zenobia for her conduct on this occasion.But women are always more cautious in their casual hospitalities than men.
"What does the girl mean?" cried she in rather a sharp tone."Is she crazy? Has she no tongue?"And here Hollingsworth stepped forward.
