“To-morrow!” repeated the old lady, lifting up both hands in extreme astonishment; “why, you must be raving crazy to think of such a thing! What in the world do you want to go out for?”
“Never mind now,” said her daughter, evasively. “I thought I should like to go out. But I suppose I am weaker than I think for.”
“Why, the fever has only just left you. It would be death to think of leaving the house.”
“We won’t say anything more about it, mother. Only I get tired of staying in the same place so long. The time moves so slowly. What time is it?”
“Three o’clock.”
“It has been three for the last hour,” said Margaret, with a touch of impatience in her tone.
“I declare the clock has stopped,” said the old lady, adjusting her spectacles; “I must have forgotten to wind it up. I declare it’s most time to get tea.”
She filled the tea-kettle, and set it over the fire, Margaret looking on with languid attention.
Her mother thought that Margaret had given up the idea of leaving the house. It was only an invalid’s fancy, she thought. But Margaret had a purpose in view, and only deferred carrying it out till her weakness had somewhat abated. On the third day, though still far from strong, she determined to leave the house. Knowing that her mother would never consent, she devised a stratagem to get her out of the way.
“Is there an orange in the house?” she asked, immediately after breakfast.