'You will wear yourself out. Why don't you take it more quietly? There is no need for such labour.'
'You would realize the need if you were in my shoes,' said Gwen, 'and felt your debts hanging over your head every minute of the day. I will never rest until I have repaid all that has been lost.'
'But that will be impossible, and unnecessary.'
'I don't think so,' was the curt reply.
Gwen was much up in town, sometimes at the British Museum, and she worked away at Mr. Lester's manuscripts whenever she could spare time from her usual writing. One afternoon she rejoiced Agatha's heart by announcing her intention of taking a walk.
'I shall stroll over to the Howitts. Have you any message for Deb?'
'I think not. I hear that Patty has not been well this last week. You might take her a little pudding. Deb was not working at the vicarage this week because of her illness.'
Gwen set out, and the fresh, keen autumn air refreshed and invigorated her. She found the little cottage nearly hidden from view by the heavily-laden apple trees, but there was a stillness about the place that was not usual. The door was on the latch, and when she stepped inside the kitchen, it was empty.
However, the door leading into the sisters' bedroom was ajar, and Gwen found Patty in bed, and Deb vainly endeavouring to make her swallow a basin of gruel.
'It isn't gruel I'll be wantin', when I know how you burns my best 'namel saucepan in the doin' of it. 'Tis a mercy I've got the honey all in, and now there'll be the apples to be gathered and preserved; and who's to have the doin' of it, wi' you, whose heart and hands are only in the dressmakin', and me a achin' and smartin' wi' pains from head to toe, and worse to foller?'