“Then tell ’er t’ come home for just two more days,” she said quickly. “I don’t ask for no more than that. Just long enough to put an end t’ this talk. I don’t never ’spect t’ have ’er after that, but——”
She sprang to her feet and, crossing the room, dragged Elizabeth to her feet also.
“I’ve got t’ have you, Lizzie, an’ that’s all th’ is about it!” They looked at each other a long time. Elizabeth weakened.
What could the girl do? Against her instincts, against her better judgment, against her will, she consented.
“See to it, then, that no new thing comes up to disgrace us,” she said, stepping back to avoid the compelling touch of the hand that clutched at her sleeve, still looking across despairingly at Aunt Susan.
All help had been taken from that quarter. Bewildered, torn between her comprehension of mother love and a real knowledge of this particular case, Susan Hornby fumbled with the hem of her apron and did not look up.
Elizabeth, alone and without support, was easily victimized.
“I’ll go,” she said briefly.
So the peaceful summer ended for Elizabeth Farnshaw with her promise to go home. She hated to go, but the phrasing of her mother’s plea, “just two more days,” helped to sustain her. It had been a happy summer, two days would not be long, and then would come John and the new home.