eyes again. She'd sit right there, and her mother'd come up, and she'd
tell her she had a headache. To meet him was impossible; she just hated
him. He was hard and cruel; she'd never see him again; he had degraded
her. The whole place became unbearable as she relived the past; she must
get away from him, from it all, at any cost, as soon as she could.
They'd be sorry when she was gone. And she cried again a little, but
these tears relieved her, did her good.
She tried to look at the whole position steadily. Barkman would take her
away to New York. Marry him?--she didn't want to, but she wouldn't make
up her mind now; she'd go away with him if he'd be a real friend to her.
Only he mustn't put his arm round her again; she didn't like him to do
that. If he wished to be a friend to her, she'd let him; if not, she'd
go by herself. He must understand that. Once in New York, she'd meet
kind people, live as she wanted to live, and never think of this horrid
time.
She was all alone; no one in the world to talk to about her trouble--no
one. No one cared for her. Her mother loved Jake best; and besides, if
she told her anythin', she'd only set down an' cry. She'd write and say
she was comfortable; and her father?--he'd get over it. He was kind
always, but he never felt much anyway--leastwise, he never showed
anythin'. When they got her letter 'twould be all right. That was what
she'd do--and so, with her little hands clenched and feverish face, she
sat and thought, letting her imagination work.
A few mornings later Bancroft came down early. He had slept badly, had
been nervous and disturbed by jealous forebodings, and had not won
easily to self-control. He had only been in the sitting-room a minute or
two when the Elder entered, and stopping in front of him asked sharply:
"Hev you seen Loo yet?"
"No. Is she down?"
"I reckoned you'd know ef she had made out anythin' partikler to do to-
day."
"No," he repeated seriously, the Elder's manner impressing him. "No! she
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