Felicia grasped his strong, brown hand thankfully, and thus he led her through the wood the way he had come, and lifted her over the hedge into the road where old Harry Budd stood waiting.
"Am I far from the Priory?" asked Felicia anxiously.
"Right t'other side of the wood," said the gipsy, "you're nigh the common."
"How did you come to be out at this hour, and in this weather, missie?" questioned the old man curiously. "I recognise your voice; you're Mr. Renford's little grand-daughter, who's living with him now."
"Yes. Oh, please show me the way home. Grandfather and Uncle Guy will be wondering what has become of me, and—oh dear, my legs do shake so dreadfully! I can hardly stand."
"Best take shelter with my wife and the little ones till the storm's over," suggested the gipsy kindly.
"No, no!" cried Felicia in great distress, alarmed beyond measure at the idea. "I must go home at once—at once! Oh, please, don't prevent me!"
She felt a strong desire to run away, lest the gipsy should carry her off to his caravan against her will; but her legs refused to move. There was a singing in her ears, and utterly overcome with the exhausting emotions she had endured during the past two hours, for the first time in her life the little girl fainted, and fell forward on her face in the road.
When Felicia came to herself again, she was in bed in her own room at the Priory, and her aunt and Mrs. Price were with her; but the latter moved away as soon as she opened her eyes.
"How did I come here?" asked Felicia in a weak-sounding voice, as Mrs. Pring kissed her and told her she was better.