‘He came to me before breakfast; besides, he is a boy. What made you go out in that strange manner?’
There was no answer, but Honor had learnt by experience that to insist was apt to end in obtaining nothing but a collision of wills, and she merely put out the Prayer Books for the morning’s reading of the Psalms. By the time it was over, Lucilla’s fit of temper had past, and she leant back in her chair. ‘What are you listening to, Lucy?’ said Honor, seeing her fixed eye.
‘The river,’ said Lucilla, pausing with a satisfied look to attend to the deep regular rush. ‘I couldn’t think before what it was that always seemed to be wanting, and now I know. It came to me when I went to bed; it was so nice!’
‘The river voice! Yes; it must be one of your oldest friends,’ said Honora, gratified at the softening. ‘So that carried you out.’
‘I couldn’t help it! I went home,’ said Lucilla.
‘Home? To Wrapworth? All alone?’ cried Honor, kindly, but aghast.
‘I couldn’t help it,’ again said the girl. ‘The river noise was so like everything—and I knew the way—and I felt as if I must go before any one was up.’
‘So you really went. And what did you do?’
‘I got over the palings our own old way, and there’s my throne still in the back of the laurels, and I popped in on old Madge, and oh! she was so surprised! And then I came on Mr. Prendergast, and he walked all the way back with me, till he saw Ratia coming, and then he would not go on any farther.’
‘Well, my dear, I can’t blame you this time. I am hoping myself to go to Wrapworth with you and Owen.’