"Martin explained our dilemma and asked if we might gain the highway
without retracing our steps. The woman hesitated a moment, and then
said, 'If you come through the gate and turn sharp to the right, you can
go out across the apple orchard by taking down a single set of bars,
only you'll have to lead your horse, sir, for the trees are set thick
and are heavy laden. I'd let you cross the bit of grass to the drive by
the back gate yonder but that it would grieve Mrs. Marchant to see the
turf so much as pressed with a wheel; she'd feel and know it somehow,
even if she didn't see it.'
"'Mrs. Marchant! Not Mrs. Chester Marchant?' cried Martin, while the
far-away echo of something recalled by the name troubled the ears of my
memory.
"'Yes, sir, the very same! Did you know Dr. Marchant, sir? The minute I
laid eyes on you two I thought you were of her kind!' replied the woman,
pointing backward over her shoulder and settling herself against the
shaft and side of Brown Tom, the horse, as if expecting and making ready
for a comfortable chat.
"As she stood thus I could take a full look at her without
intrusiveness.
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