"Food—yes; I went out three times for wood, and I took one wild, mad walk. I ran, while all the world slept, to Lonely Farm. I looked in at my father's window; he was dozing by the fire, and—my mother——"
"Well, Priscilla?"
"My mother—was crying! I shall always remember her—crying. I did not know there were so many tears in the world!"
"You—you still insist upon going away?"
"Yes. There is no other way for me. Already I seem a stranger, a passerby. Not even for my mother can I stay; it could work no good for her or me. Perhaps, by and by——" Priscilla paused. Now that she was about to turn her back on all that was familiar to her, she became serious and intense, but she knew no shadow of wavering.
Then Farwell told her the arrangements he had made.
"I have a hundred dollars for you, Priscilla. I wish it were more. My friend Boswell will meet you at Little Corners. This is Friday; he will be there on Sunday and will wait for you at the inn; there is only one. Ask for it and go straight to it. From here to Little Corners is the hardest part. I will go as far as I dare with you; the rest you must make alone. Halfway, there is a deserted shanty near the old factory; there you can make yourself comfortable for the night. Are you afraid?"
Priscilla was white and intent, but she answered:
"No, I shall not be afraid."
"You ought to cover the distance in a couple of days and a night; the walking is not hard, and the woods are fairly well cleared. Once you reach Boswell you are safe. He will not question you, but you can trust him. He's a strange man—younger than I; he stands, has always stood, for all that is noble and good in my life. I have told him that you are some one in whom I am interested."