She ran down the hill, the ripple of the stream sounding in her ears like music, and approached the garden gate. A lady was seated in the cottage doorway, and, as Margery was hurrying up the path, she rose and came to meet her.
“Miss Lawson!” exclaimed Margery, in surprise.
“I have been waiting here nearly an hour,” the governess returned; “your mother has been extremely unwell, and——”
“Mother ill!” exclaimed Margery, with a sudden pang. “Oh, let me go to her!”
Miss Lawson put a detaining hand upon the girl’s arm.
“You must not disturb her; she has just dropped off to sleep. Reuben has gone to fetch Dr. Metcalf, and Mrs. Carter is sitting indoors to see to her.”
Margery’s face had grown very sad.
“What is it?” she asked, in a low voice. “She was weak when I left her to-day, but not more than usual.”
“She had a severe fit of coughing, and it brought on an attack of the hemorrhage again; it has stopped now, but it has left her very weak. You can do nothing just now, Margery, and I came purposely to talk to you.”
Miss Lawson was a small, thin woman with a quiet, determined face, which from long contact with the world had grown almost stern; but there were gleams of warmth and kindliness from the clear, gray eyes and a touch even of tenderness about the mouth sometimes. Now, though she spoke in her keen, dry way, there was an expression of kindness, almost affection, on her features as she looked at Margery. The girl turned back from the door at once.