“Oh, pray don’t say that. Where will you go?”
“I do not know, dear,” answered Miss Conyers, in that grave tone that forbade farther cross-questioning.
So Erminie sighed and fell into silence.
Britomarte was now so closely engaged that she seldom got time to spend an evening at the parsonage. Something like a fortnight had elapsed since that evening when she had taken tea with Erminie, and laughed at Justin for his mere camp promotions; and since then she had not visited their house.
One afternoon she sat diligently sewing on a coarse blue jacket, when Mrs. Burton came up to her room and told her that there was an old colored man below asking to speak to her.
She went down stairs and found Uncle Bob, who handed her a note from Erminie.
It was very short, and ran thus:
“Dear Britomarte, please come to me at once, for I am in great distress.
Erminie.”
“What is the matter, Uncle Bob?” she inquired.