I was entering the little shop serving as the post-office,
where I went every day in the unreasonable expectation of letters,
when I heard a voice that made me start, "Did you say turn to the
right?"
And there, among the piles of cheeses, stood a figure I knew full
well, though it had grown very thin, and had a very red and mottled
face at the top.
We held out our hands to one another in silence, and walked at once
out of hearing. Dermot said he was well, and had been as kindly
looked after as possible, and now he had been let out as safe
company, but his family and friends would hardly believe it, so he
had come down to see whether he could share our quarantine.
Happily a few cottages of the better sort had accommodation for
lodgers, and one of them--for a consideration--accepted "the
gentleman's" bill of health. He walked on by my side, both of us
feeling the blessing of having someone to speak to. He, poor fellow,
had seen no being who had ever heard of Harold, except George
Yolland, who came when he was too ill to talk, and we went on with
the conversation that had been broken off weeks before, with such
comfort as it could give us in such a loss as ours.
He walked all the way back with me, and I was frightened to see how
tired he looked. I took him to Mrs. Long for the refreshment she
loved to give, and begged for the pony for him to ride home on, and a
boy to fetch it back.
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