"I will get to that little path," she said, trembling, "and there I will drop, and if I must think, I must."
She staggered up the little path, and it lead to a tiny hut, the colour of the four great trees that stood about it. Its door hung wide open, and in the middle of it, on a low stool, there sat an old woman, wrapped in a long cloak, looking kindly at her.
She threw herself across the threshold and fell upon the earthen floor.
"Oh, will you speak to me? Will you see me? Pray, pray answer me!" she cried.
"And why should I not see you, my child?" said the old woman.
She gasped with joy.
"I don't know—I thought—the coachman slammed the door—I don't know what I thought! It was terrible!" she panted.
"I know, I know," said the old woman; "but you are here now. You can rest now. It took you a long time, you are so strong. Look, I have a bed for you!"
She looked, and in the corner of the hut was a couch of pine boughs, odorous and soft.
"You may lie on my cloak," said the old woman, and spread it on the springy couch. She dropped on it.