And now the magnitude of the step she had taken began to obtrude itself, mingled with a wearying iteration of thoughts of Northwood, and what must have been going on since the morning when her flight was first discovered. Her uncle’s anger would, she knew, be terrible! Then her cousin! She could not help picturing his rage when he found that she had escaped him. What would her aunt and the servants think of her conduct? And then it was that there was a burning sensation in her cheeks, as her thoughts turned to Leigh and his sister, the only people that during her stay at Northwood she had learned to esteem.
And somehow the burning in her cheeks increased till the tears rose to her eyes, when, as if the heat was quenched, she turned pale with misery and despair, for she felt how strongly that she had left behind in Jenny Leigh one for whom she had almost unknowingly conceived a genuine sisterly affection.
From that moment the struggle she had been having to seem calm, and at home, intensified, and she pushed away cup and saucer and rose from the table, just as the housekeeper, who had been in and out several times, reentered.
“But you haven’t done, miss?” she said, plaintively.
“Yes, thank you; I am not very well this morning,” said Kate, hastily.
“As anyone could see, miss, with half an eye; but there’s something wrong, of course.”
“Something—wrong?” faltered Kate.
“Yes, miss,” said the woman in an ill-used tone. “The tea wasn’t strong enough, or the sole wasn’t done to your liking.”
“Don’t think that, Mrs—Mrs—”
“Plant’s my name, miss—Sarah Plant, and Becky’s Becky. Don’t call me Mrs, please; I’m only the servant.”