"There's no but about it, I tell you she shall go, if that child dies on the road; that's all there is to that," and Mrs. Howe went up stairs to inform Rose of her determination.
Rose had just succeeded in lulling the restless baby to sleep upon her bosom. Upon Mrs. Howe's violent bang of the door after entering the room, he uttered a loud, frightened cry.
"Stop that child, will you?" said Mrs. Howe, "I have something to say to you."
The quick blood rushed to Rose's face, as she nestled Charley to her bosom.
"It is now one o'clock," said Mrs. Howe, drawing out her gold watch, with its glittering chain and trinkets; "the stage will be at the door to take you to Exeter, at three o'clock precisely. Do you understand?" said she, as Rose bent an anxious glance at the sick baby's face.
"I will be ready," said Rose, in a trembling voice.
This mild, acquiescent reply was not what Mrs. Howe desired; she would have preferred something upon which to hinge her pent-up wrath.
"How came that rocking-chair up here, I should like to know?"
"Betty brought it up for old Mrs. Bond."