There was mischief and even enjoyment in her smile and Kathleen's heart felt eased and at peace. She wanted to play no hard and cruel part in this little drama, she did not want the girl to go broken hearted and unhappy.
"And now—now Betty, it is time," she said, "time, dear, for you to go, you—you quite understand?"
"Oh—oh my lady!" And once more Betty was all tears, the tears rained down her face and suddenly she rushed to Kathleen who held out her arms to her.
"Good-bye, my dear, good-bye and God bless you and bring you to happiness." Kathleen strained her in her arms, held her tightly for a moment and then let her go and her own eyes were not dry.
Presently Betty, in her neat little black gown, opened the arched green gate for the last time, and of habit peered up and down the road, half fearfully, lest someone might be there waiting for her. But there was no sign of Abram Lestwick. In the distance she could see the blue smoke curling from the chimney of her grandmother's cottage and at the sight the tears were gone and the pretty face grew a trifle hard, even a little bitter.
"And now we shall see if I be going to marry Abram Lestwick, grandmother," she thought, "terribul obstinate I be, yes and contrairy and a perilous bad maid, but Abram will hev to look for someone else—'Lizbeth Colley, who due bake such wonderful fine currant biscuits."
She laughed softly a little laugh of triumph, mingled with grief and then—then she stepped out into the white roadway and pulled the gate after her. She looked along the high wall of old red brick, over which she had clambered—bad, perilous bad maid that she was—many a time. The wall was topped now with glittering glass and seeing it the tears all came back with a rush and sobs broke from the labouring, childish breast.
"Broken hearted I be——" she wailed, "broken hearted and wishful of dying—oh—oh never never to see him again, never!" She looked back along the road and could see her grandmother's cottage. She pictured to herself her grandmother, that stern, unbending woman, sitting in her stiff, high backed chair—waiting—waiting for her, waiting to have her will with her.
And the thought of the old woman sitting there waiting and waiting all in vain banished the tears from the bright eyes.
"She said that I was bad and that I must go and—and so I be going for good—going to London. Powerful 'quisitive I be to see what London looks like, bigger than Stretton it be, wi' streets of shops and theayters and oh!" Her eyes shone, the grief was forgotten, she was hurrying on her way down the road now. The red wall had ceased to be and it seemed as though the enchantment of the old garden that it protected was lifted, for the girl was smiling and her eyes were bright with anticipation as she hastened on her way, and never once did she look behind her now.