"I shall be ready in an hour."
She had pushed Eddie gently aside and, without a glance at anyone had walked steadily from the room.
Once seated on the side of the bed in the room that had been hers, she had been seized with a chill so violent that her teeth had chattered in her head. To prevent anyone who might follow her from hearing them,—and it was probable that her brother might come for a final remonstrance; it was even conceivable that Gertie, herself, might be sorry for what she had done; but no, it was she who had said she was shameless!—she got up and locked her door and then threw herself full length on the little bed and crammed the corner of the pillow into her mouth.
Perhaps she was going to die. She had never really been ill in her life and the violence of the chill frightened her. In her present overwrought state, the thought of death was not disquieting. But supposing she was only going to be very ill, with some long and tedious illness that would make her a care and a burden for weeks? She recalled the unremitting care which she had had to give Miss Wickham, and pictured Gertie's grudging ministrations at her sick-bed. Anything rather than that! She must manage to get to Winnipeg. Once away from the house, nothing mattered.
But after a few moments the violence of the chill, which was of course purely nervous in its origin, subsided perceptibly. Nora rose and began to busy herself with her packing. Fortunately her wardrobe was small. She had no idea how long she had been lying on the bed.
She had just folded the last garment and was about to close the lid of her trunk, when there came a knock at the door.
"Who is it?"
"It's me," said Frank's voice. "The team is at the door. Are you ready?"
For reply, Nora threw open the door and pointed to her box.
"I have only to put on my hat. Will you be good enough to fasten that for me? Here is the key."