But now"-- and she stood up, though still leaning on her stick--"but now I must go." Morva looked at her in astonishment, for the aged form seemed to grow young again with the strength of purpose within it.

The gentle face appeared to lose the wrinkles of age.

In the fitful light of the fire, it took again the lines of beauty and youth which had once belonged to it.
"Thou must not be surprised, child," she added, "if some evening when thou com'st home from the farm thou shalt find the house empty.

The key will be on the lintel, and thou must come in and wait in patience till I return.

I thought there was nothing more for me to do, but I see it now," and with her stick she pointed into the dark corner where the spinning-wheel stood, and the red earthen pitcher which went so often to the well.