Beryl had been longing for a walk; but Miss Burton had been obliged to insist upon a French exercise being first re-written, and she had gone to make some calls in the village, having arranged that Beryl should join her there as soon as the exercise was creditably written.
Beryl was not in a working mood, and the exercise took her a long time. When, at last, she pushed aside her books with a sigh of relief, she was dismayed to find how late it was. She hurried upstairs to get ready for her walk, when a glance from her bedroom window showed her that Miss Burton had already returned, and was walking in the garden with Mr. Hollys.
Something in their appearance made Beryl stand at the window to watch them. She wondered what her father could be talking about so earnestly as he gazed into Miss Burton's face. And Miss Burton looked pale, startled, unlike herself. Her father seemed to be urging some request, to which Miss Burton would not listen.
Now she appeared to utter a final word, and turning from Mr. Hollys, walked quickly to the house.
What could it mean? Beryl wondered.
She hastily put on her hat and jacket, and ran downstairs to join her governess. But she was not to be found in the schoolroom, nor in any of the sitting-rooms, and after waiting a few minutes Beryl, growing impatient, went to Miss Burton's room.
Beryl did as children not seldom do. She knocked at the door, and opened it at the same instant.
"Can you come for a walk, now, Miss Burton?" she said, as she advanced into the room.
There was no reply, and to Beryl's dismay she saw Miss Burton kneeling beside the bed, her hands clasped, her face hidden, whilst stifled sobs shook her frame. At the sound of the child's approach she started and raised her head, but could not at once conquer her emotion.
"Oh, what is the matter, Miss Burton?" cried Beryl, greatly alarmed. "Are you feeling ill?"