“Shall I go and see what’s wrong?” asked Dacier. “It’s only a step.”
“Oh, please do!” said Mrs. Terhune.
Off went Robert. He pushed open the little gate, and went up the garden path to the enchanted cottage, which seemed quieter than ever under the hot sun. He rang the bell.
No answer—not a sound inside.
He rang again, and then opened the door and entered.
The sitting room was gay with flowers from the garden, and, if possible, neater and daintier than ever—but empty. Dacier went into the kitchen, and there, on the table, he saw a frosted cake that caused him a sharp pang. No one there!
He went into the little passage and listened, but heard not a sound.
“Miss Henaberry!” he called. “Please! Mildred!”
A door slammed open upstairs, and down she came like a whirlwind, such a tragic and heart-stirring figure! Her dark hair was wildly untidy, her eyes were heavy with tears, yet she had a look of such stern[Pg 110] and dauntless pride on her face that a man might well feel abashed.
“Go away!” she cried. “Why do you come here? Go away!”