Millie, sitting at ease, stared. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going away; I told you so last evening. I've written Mrs. Sassaman's address on this piece of paper so that you'll know just where I am. When I'm settled I'll write and Matthew will send my other satchel. It's packed in my room."
"He didn't think you were going!" Millie grew pale. Matthew was, she believed, offended with her. "He's in the field."
"Tell him good-bye for me."
"Are you going to walk to the station?"
"Yes."
Like a paralyzed person Millie submitted to Ellen's kiss; then she looked at the closing door and round the kitchen. The washing was to be done, and the ironing and baking and cooking and sweeping. In her dismay she forgot even her sleeping baby; rising, she sped out past the barn and across the fields to Matthew.
Ellen walked rapidly. She did not analyze her feeling and she did not know whether she was excited or calm, glad or sorry; she knew only that she was free. At the end of the second mile she paused. Before her the road sloped steeply to the creek; beyond the creek the town climbed the hill. To the right in the hollow, stood the steep-roofed buildings and Grandfather's cottage and Amos's schoolhouse. She could hear the droning voices of the children; not in fact, because it was too early in the morning for school, but in memory. She saw the old trees and the lambs at play and the little cemetery so close to the road. Ah, she must hurry! Invisible arms seemed to reach out for her; she felt her heart softening, her eyes filling with tears. Should she run in and say good-bye to Grandfather? He was a very old man and she might not see him again. But, no, she hastened down the hill, across the bridge and up the broad street to the station, scarcely able to see through tears.
There, startled, she beheld Amos whose beauty was spectral.