“He ought to try it to-night. To-night or to-morrow night. He ought to be away on one of the early freight trains, to St. Louis, and meet me there. We know our bearings there.”
Camilla sat very still.
“I must be going,” he said.
“Don't go! You'll come before—when?”
“To-morrow we'll know. To-morrow then.”
After he was gone, she lifted the window and peered over the mansards to watch him going down the street. The tree tops were thick with busy sparrows, the railroad yards clamorous, and there was the rattle of the travelling crane, and the clug-chug of steamers on the river.
She drew back, and leaned against the old chest, and sobbed with her face against the hard, worn edge of it.
“I didn't suppose it would be like this,” she thought. “I thought people were happy.”
Meanwhile Miss Eunice sat below in the parlour knitting. Hennion came in later and found her there. She said that Camilla, she thought, was upstairs, and added primly:
“I think it will be as well if you talk with me.”