Mother- and Daughter-In-Law

Your pardon, noble lady!
My friends were poor but honest--so is my love;
Be not offended, for it hurts him not
That he is loved of me. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love
For loving where you do.

--Shakspere.

The poor sisters had just finished their afternoon meal, cleaned their
room, and settled themselves to their evening's work. Nora was spinning
gayly, Hannah weaving diligently--the whir of Nora's wheel keeping time
to the clatter of Hannah's loom, when the latch was lifted and Herman
Brudenell, bringing a brace of hares in his hand, entered the hut.

"There, Hannah, those are prime! I just dropped in to leave them, and to
say that it is certain my mother leaves for Washington on Saturday. On
Sunday morning I shall bring my wife home; and you, too, Hannah; for if
you will not consent to live with us, you must still stop with us until
you and Gray are married and ready to go to the West," he said, throwing
the game upon the table, and shaking hands with the sisters. His face
was glowing from exercise, and his eyes sparkling with joy.

"Sit down, Mr. Brudenell," said Hannah hospitably.

The young man hesitated, and a look of droll perplexity passed over his
face as he said: "Now don't tempt me, Hannah, my dear; don't ask me to stop this evening;
and don't even let me do so if I wish to. You see I promised my mother
to be home in time to meet some friends at dinner, and I am late now!
Good-by, sister; good-by, sweet wife! Sunday morning, Mrs. Herman
Brudenell, you will take the head of your own table at Brudenell Hall!"