So, calmly, and with what peace they might, these hours went on.
"I want to see that Sampson woman," said Aunt Faith, suddenly, to her niece, on the third afternoon of their being together. "Do you think she would come over here if I should send for her?"
Faith flashed a surprised look of inquiry to Miss Henderson's face.
"Why, aunt?" she asked.
"Never mind why, child. I can't tell you now. Of course it's something, or I shouldn't want her. Something I should like to know, and that I suppose she could tell me. Do you think she'd come?"
"Why, yes, auntie. I don't doubt it. I might write her a note."
"I wish you would. Mr. Armstrong says he'll drive over. And I'd like to have you do it right off. Now, don't ask me another word about it, till she's been here."
Faith wrote the note, and Mr. Armstrong went away.
Miss Henderson seemed to grow tired, to-day, after her dinner, and at four o'clock she said to Glory, abruptly:
"I'll go to bed. Help me into the other room."