We stop here. Those who feel interest enough in the fortunes of Henney
to inquire when and whom she married, and what were the subsequent
fortunes of a life so strangely begun, will do well to go to Eastleys.
THE ORPHAN.
About forty years ago, a post-chaise was a sight more novel in the
little hamlet of Thorndean, than silk gowns in country churches during
the maidenhood of our great-grandmothers; and, as one drew up at the
only public-house in the village, the inhabitants, old and young,
startled by the unusual and merry sound of its wheels, hurried to the
street. The landlady, on the first notice of its approach, had hastily
bestowed upon her goodly person the additional recommendation of a clean
cap and apron; and, still tying the apron-strings, ran bustling to the
door, smiling, colouring, and courtesying, and courtesying and colouring
again, to the yet unopened chaise. Poor soul! she knew not well how to
behave--it was an epoch in her annals of innkeeping. At length the
coachman, opening the door, handed out a lady in widow's weeds. A
beautiful, golden-haired child, apparently not exceeding five years of
age, sprang to the ground without assistance, and grasped her extended
hand.
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