Part 33 (1/2)

”Please.”

Miss Hammond hurried into the house and to the schoolroom, but Kitty was not there. Then she went to the music-room, but there was no Kitty there; then by degrees they searched the whole house and garden, but in vain, and at last stood gazing at each other, perplexed and alarmed.

Kitty, with never a thought of all the trouble she was causing, had caught her train and was speeding home, little dreaming, though, of all that lay before her, for in her alarm for Betty she had quite failed to grasp the other and more serious news that Betty had written; and, as the long minutes dragged by, and the train seemed but to crawl, it was only for Betty that her anxiety increased, is her mind had time to dwell on what had happened, and picture all the dreadful things that might have occurred to her.

”It was a wet night, and it was a very dark one, and such strange sounds fill a wood at night, and--oh, I hope she kept away from the river!

If anything chased her, and she ran, and in the darkness fell in-- O Betty, Betty!”

Then ”Gorlay at last!” she cried in intense relief as she recognized the well-known landmarks. Long before the train could possibly draw up, she got up and stood by the door with the handle in her hand, a sense of strangeness, of unreality, growing upon her. She felt as though she were some one else, some one older and more experienced, who was accustomed to moving amidst tragedies and the serious events of life.

Even the old familiar platform, the white palings, the 'bus and the drowsy horses that she knew so well, seemed to her to have changed too, and to wear quite a different aspect.

”I feel like a person just waking out of a dream, not knowing whether it is dream or reality,” she thought to herself as she opened the door and stepped out on to the platform. ”I suppose I am not dreaming?”

But as she stood there for a moment trying to collect herself, Weller, the 'busman, came up to her, and he was real enough, and his anxious face was no dream-face.

”Good-morning, missie,” he said sympathetically. ”I'm sorry enough, I'm sure, to see you come home on such an errant. 'Tis wisht, sure enough.”

Kitty was startled. She thought he was referring to Betty, and wondered how he could know of her escapade. ”You knew she was gone?” she asked anxiously.

The man looked shocked. ”Gone! Is she, poor lady? Law now, miss, you don't say so! I hadn't heard it. She was just conscious when I called fore this morning to inquire, and they 'ad 'opes that she'd rally.”

”Then they have found her; but--but is she ill? Did she get hurt?--the river!--O Weller, do tell me quickly. I came home on purpose to go to look for her. Is she very ill?” Poor Kitty was nearly exhausted with anxiety and the shocks she had received.

Weller looked puzzled. ”Why,” he said slowly, ”I never heard nothing about any river. She was took ill and fell down in the room, missie.

Haven't you heard? They told me they was going to tellygraff for you so soon as the office was open, 'cause your poor aunt said your name once or twice--almost the only words they've been able to make out since she was took ill; and with the master away and you the eldest, they thought you ought to be sent for.”

Then the rest of Betty's letter came back to her mind, and as the importance of it was borne in on her, Kitty's heart sank indeed in the face of such a double trouble.

”Oh, if only father were home!” was her first thought. ”But even if we send at once he can't be here for ever so long.” A moment later, though, she remembered his health, and how bad such news would be for him, with all those miles between, too; and she felt that unless it was absolutely necessary, they must spare him this trouble.

Rowe, the driver, came forward to help her to her seat. ”I think you'd best go outside, missie,” he said gently, ”you'm looking so white.

P'r'aps the air'll do 'ee good. I'm afraid you've had a bad shock.”

”I--I think I have,” gasped Kitty, as, very grateful for his sympathy, she mounted obediently.

Then Weller, who had suddenly disappeared, came back carrying a cup of steaming tea and a plate of bread and b.u.t.ter. ”Drink this, missie, and eat a bit,” he said, clambering carefully up with his precious burden, ”then you'll feel better. You look as if you hadn't tasted nothing but trouble lately,” he added sympathetically, as he arranged the tray on the seat beside her, and hurried down again to escape any thanks.

Tears of grat.i.tude were in Kitty's eyes as she ate and drank; and from sheer desire to show how much she appreciated his kindness, she finished all he had brought her, knowing that that would gratify him more than any thanks could.

She certainly felt better for the food, and more fit to face the long drive home; and never to her life's end did she forget that drive on that sunny June morning--the dazzling white dusty road stretching before them, the hedges powdered with dust, the scent of the dog-roses and meadow-sweet blossoming so bravely and sending up their fragrance, in spite of their dusty covering, to cheer the pa.s.sers-by. Then, when at last they reached the town, familiar faces looked up and recognized her, and most of them greeted her sympathetically.

It was all so natural, so unchanged; yet to Kitty, seeing it for the first time with eyes dazed with trouble, it seemed as though she had never seen it before--at least, not as it looked to her now. She tried to realize that it was only she who had changed, that all the rest was just as it had always been. She felt suddenly very much older, that life was a more serious and important thing than it had been--so serious and important that it struck her as strange that any one could smile or seem gay.

With kind thoughtfulness Rowe did not stop at all on his way as usual, but drove the 'bus straight up to the house at once. As they drew near, Kitty, glancing up to speak to him, saw him look anxiously up over the front of the house. ”It's all right,” he murmured to himself; then aloud he said more cheerfully, ”I'm hoping, missie, you may find your poor aunt better,” and Kitty knew that he had feared lest they might find the blinds drawn down.

CHAPTER XX.

KITTY'S HANDS ARE FULL.

As soon as the 'bus had drawn up, the door of the house was flung open and f.a.n.n.y tore out. ”Oh, my dear!” she cried, almost lifting her little mistress down bodily in her plump arms. ”Oh, my dear Miss Kitty, I'm that glad to see 'ee! They said as the tellygram couldn't reach 'ee in time to catch that train, but I knew better. I knew if you got that there message you'd come by that early train, even if it _had_ started.”