“It’s much more terrible for you to leave Mr. Dorn.”
Madeleine didn’t deny that.
“And if you come further there’s no telling when you’ll get out. It will be worse going back against the tide.”
But Madeleine hesitated, with harassed face.
“I’d much rather you went now,” Hildegarde urged, taking her suit-case from her friend. “Good-by.”
Madeleine clung to her with filling eyes. “I hate leaving you.”
Hildegarde kissed her. “Good-by, dear. And thank you a thousand times.”
In the act of going, Madeleine whispered, “Oh, I hope nothing will happen to you. But I’m frightened to death. Good-by. Oh dear!”
And that was the last of the old familiar life.
As slowly Hildegarde got herself and her suit-case through the crowd, it was borne in upon her that perhaps she had been wrong to insist that neither of her brothers should come and see her off, as each had nobly suggested, in spite of their unwavering opposition to the enterprise. She had made a point of their trusting her “to do it alone.”