She felt utterly miserable, and did not know what to do with herself. Auntie Anne was away at the doctor's with Ivy; and Mrs. Prue and Elisabeth were both busy with Miss Storey in her room, where, wrapped in shawls and blankets, she sat shivering and icy-cold before a blazing fire, scarcely able to speak.
The house seemed so empty, so desolate. There was nobody to speak to. Hecla crept disconsolately from room to room, with a great weight upon her.
She could not help knowing that all this trouble and distress had come upon the household as a result of her own naughtiness. She wished now—oh, how she wished it!—that she had said No to Mildred's proposal, and had waited patiently for Auntie Anne's return from the gardener's cottage. If only she had listened to that warning voice which spoke so clearly in her heart, and had refused to do what she knew to be wrong, or had turned back in time, even after having started—how happy she might be now!
It had all been for no use. She had not found Chris; she had not received the boat. But even if she had, what would that have mattered in comparison?
The time seemed to her endless before at last Aunt Millicent's door opened, and Prue came out. Hecla was watching on the stairs, a few steps above, on the flight which led to the servants' room; and she ran downstairs after Prue, catching her skirt.
"Oh, please, Prue—please, dear Mrs. Prue—do tell me! Is Auntie Millicent better?"
Prue looked her grimmest.
"There, don't you be hindering of me, Miss Hecla! You've done mischief enough for one day."
"Is Auntie Millicent ill?" asked Hecla dolefully.
"I shouldn't wonder but she's going to be. She's all over shakes and shivers, and can't hardly say a word, she's that weak. It's pretty nigh enough to be the death of her!"