“None but thee, Edith? Where are the rest?”
There was a break in her voice, such as folk have when they have been sore troubled.
“I have been alone this hour, Aunt. Milly is in our chamber, and Father I left in his closet. Whither Mother and Nell be I know not.”
“Hast told him?”
“Ay, and he said only himself must tell Mother.”
“I knew he would. God help her!”
“You think she shall take it very hard, Aunt?”
“Edith,” saith Aunt Joyce softly, “there is more to take hard than thou wist. And we know not well yet all the ill he may have wrought to Milisent.”
Then away went she, and I heard her to rap on the door of Father’s closet. For me, I sat and sewed a while longer: and yet none coming, I went up to our chamber, partly that I should wash mine hands, and partly to see what was come of Milly.
She still lay on the bed, but her face turned somewhat more toward me, and by her shut eyes and even breathing I could guess that she slept. I sat me down in the window to wait, when mine hands were washen: for I thought some should come after a while, and may-be should not count it right that I left Milisent all alone. I guess it were a good half-hour I there sat, and Milly slept on. At the last come Mother, her eyes very red as though she had wept much.