‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. She felt the need to get dressed, sensing that his parents would be home soon. She saw herself in very much Vivie’s position—managing something. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he came toward her. Presently she became aware of footsteps hurrying after her, and glanced back to find Miss Klegg, a little out of breath, in pursuit. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. Give me your hand. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive.
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