“I don’t mean the road, though that’s as bad as bad can be, to my sartain knowledge, which has travelled of it once. I mean your siteration, there! do you know the dangers of that, a bumping and a thumping, and a tumbling and a rumbling over them rocky roads? I say, do you know the dangers of that?”
“No, I don’t, nurse; I only know that whatever they are, I must face them,” said Drusilla, so calmly and so firmly, that the old woman knew at once that it would be utterly vain to try to turn her from her purpose.
“But, for goodness sake, why must you go?”
“From imminent necessity, nurse, that I can’t stop now to explain. I wish you to be kind enough to pack up under clothing and other necessaries enough to last me a week. Pina, empty the little red trunk and bring it here to nurse.”
“But, for patience’s sake, whar is you going, child?”
“I am going to see my husband.”
“You are going to your death!”
“Perhaps. If so, I shall serve him just as well,” murmured Drusilla, in a low tone.
“But, child, tell me, what’s the great ’cessity? What for must you go to see your husband sich a long distance over sich roads in your siteration, and to the rist of your life?”
“He is—in imminent danger,” said Drusilla, evasively.