“And I will go with you, Adee!” cried Beth, clapping her hands. “Good, good. We’ll have a perfectly ‘kertish’ time.”
The man shook his head. “As I read the signs, you will not be with Adee. I cannot read your future; but you will not be with Adee—not all the time.”
“I should not like to go alone,” said Adee, “I’m very much afraid that would not be pleasant. Could you not read another story in the coals, and let Beth be my companion?”
“I cannot change it. It is written there. To be frank, I would not do so if I could. No fear that you will be lonely. You will not wish Beth with you when you start on the journey, for your companion will be dearer to you than even Beth is.”
“Impossible. Beth is—” Eliza had turned and looked at the man as she spoke. Words failed her. Something, she knew not what, kept her from saying that Beth would always be the dearest one to her.
The subject was getting too personal to please her. She turned from the two at the fireside and poured the coffee and brought it to the sick man. She did not raise her eyes. She did not look at him. The silence was constrained. Even Beth, who could not understand many things, felt that.
“Why is every one suddenly glum,” she cried at last. “Talking and laughing one minute and then as quiet as mice. I’ll tell you this, though. Nothing will keep me away from Adee. If she goes abroad to see strange sights, I’ll go too.”
“No, I think not.” He shook his head dubiously.
“It’s beyond my power to change what I have read. You could not go, Beth. A little bit of a girl as you are. You would not be able to stand it. It will be a sort of ‘tramp’ trip.” He laughed and looked toward Eliza, who was drawing on her great coat. “Come, Beth, it is time to move homeward,” she said.