"What do you want?" repeated Mrs. Wrandall, her voice hoarse and tremulous.
"I am looking for an inn. It must be near by. I do—"
"An inn?" with a start.
"I do not recall the name. It is not far from a village, in the hills."
"Do you mean Burton's?"
"Yes. That's it. Can you direct me?" The voice of the girl was faint; she seemed about to fall.
"It is six or eight miles from here," said Mrs. Wrandall, still looking in wonder at the miserable nightfarer.
The girl's head sank; a moan of despair came through her lips, ending in a sob.
"So far as that?" she murmured. Then she drew herself up with a fine show of resolution. "But I must not stop here. Thank you."
"Wait!" cried the other. The girl turned to her once more. "Is—is it a matter of life or death?"