Her heart growing fainter and fainter, she turned again to the inn. A tall awkward young countryman, with a cap set on one side of his head, was busying himself with sweeping off the floor of the piazza, but in a very leisurely manner; and between every two strokes of his broom he was casting long looks at Ellen, evidently wondering who she was, and what she could want there. Ellen saw it, and hoped he would ask her in words, for she could not answer his _looks_ of curiosity — but she was disappointed. As he reached the end of the piazza, and gave his broom two or three knocks against the edge of the boards to clear it of dust, he indulged himself with one good, long, finishing look at Ellen, and then she saw he was going to take himself and his broom into the house. So in despair she ran up the two or three low steps of the piazza and presented herself before him. He stopped short. "Will you please to tell me, Sir," said poor Ellen, "if Miss Emerson is here?" "Miss Emerson?" said he — "what Miss Emerson?" "I don't know, Sir — Miss Emerson that lives not far from Thirlwall." Eyeing Ellen from head to foot, the man then trailed his broom into the house. Ellen followed him. "Mr. Forbes!" said he — "Mr. Forbes! do you know anything of Miss Emerson?" "What Miss Emerson?" said another man, with a big red face and a big round body, showing himself in a doorway which he nearly filled. "Miss Emerson that lives a little way out of town." "Miss Fortune Emerson? — yes, I know her. What of her?" "Has she been here to-day?" "Here? what, in town? No — not as I've seen or heard. Why, who wants her?" "This little girl." And the man with the broom stepping back, disclosed Ellen to the view of the red-faced landlord. He advanced a step or two towards her. "What do you want with Miss Fortune, little one?" said he. "I expected she would meet me here, Sir," said Ellen "Where have you come from?" "From New York." "The stage set her down just now," put in the other man. "And you thought Miss Fortune would meet you, did you?" "Yes, Sir; she was to meet me and take me home." "Take you home! Are you going to Miss Fortune's home?" "Yes, Sir." "Why, you don't belong to her, any way, do you?" "No, Sir," said Ellen, "but she's my aunt." "She's your what?" "My aunt, Sir — my father's sister." "You father's sister! You ben't the daughter of Morgan Montgomery, be you?" "Yes, I am," said Ellen, half-smiling. "And you are come to make a visit to Miss Fortune, eh?" "Yes," said Ellen, smiling no longer. "And Miss Fortune han't come up to meet you! — that's real shabby of her; and how to get you down there to-night, I am sure is more than I can tell." And he shouted, "Wife!" "What's the matter, Mr. Forbes?" said a fat landlady, appearing in the doorway, which she filled near as well as her husband would have done.