When the door had closed upon her visitor, she stood for a while motionless, leaning her head wearily against the window-frame.
"Strange," she said to herself, "that she should have reminded me of—mother! It must have been her voice."
A breeze strayed in at the window, and brought up to her face the scent of the lilies which stood in a dish upon the bureau. She seized the bowl with a hasty gesture, and threw the flowers far out into the orchard.
Mrs. Jerome arose very early the next morning and went down for a breath of the fresh, sweet air. Early as it was, the farmer had been to the village to distribute his milk, and came rattling up the road with his wagon full of empty cans. He drove up to the door, and, with an air of importance, handed the lady a letter, staring inquisitively at her haggard face as he did so. The letter was merely a friendly one from her physician, in answer to her own, and said, among other things:
"Van Cassalear is in town. All my ingenuity was called into action in the effort to answer his persistent inquiries in regard to you. As glad as I am that you are so content, and inured to human suffering as I am supposed to be, I could not but feel a pang of sympathy for him. His state is a melancholy one. The world has long since ceased conjecturing as to your whereabouts. You are one of those privileged beings who are at liberty to do and dare. Your mysterious disappearance is put down with your other eccentricities."
Although, under ordinary circumstances, not a woman to care for a pretext for anything she chose to do, she allowed the reception of this letter to serve in the present instance as an excuse for her immediate departure—for she had resolved to go away at once.
The surprise of Mr. Squires when her intention was made known to him was great, and tinged with melancholy—a melancholy which his wife by no means shared. But his feelings were considerably assuaged by the check handed him by Nettie, for an amount far greater than he had any reason to expect.
"I might 'a' got Rob to take 'em down to the station, if I'd a-known it sooner," he remarked to his wife, in Mrs. Jerome's hearing, "but I seen him an hour ago drivin' like thunder down toward Hingham, an' he won't be back in time. I guess old Sal can drag the folks down to the station, an' I'll see if I can get Tim Higgins to take the things. Time I's about it, too. Train goes at one."
Mrs. Jerome went to her room and dressed herself in travelling attire. Leaving Nettie to finish packing, she took her hat and went out and down the road, walking very rapidly. All along the road-side August was flaunting her gay banners. Silvery clematis and crimsoning blackberry vines draped the rough stone walls; hard-hack, both pink and white, asters and golden-rod, and many a humble, nameless flower and shrub, filled all the intervening spaces; yellow birds swung airily upon the purple tufts of the giant thistles, and great red butterflies hovered across her pathway. She passed on, unheeding, until the grassy by-road was reached, into which she turned, and stood for a moment on the summit of the hill, looking down upon the Granger homestead. A woman came out as she looked, and leaned over the flowers which bloomed in little beds on each side of the door-way. Mrs. Jerome half turned, as if to retrace her steps, and then walked resolutely down the hill and up the avenue. The woman saw her coming, stared shyly from beneath her hand in rustic fashion for a moment, and then ran into the house, where she could be seen peeping from between the half-closed window-blinds.
As she came nearer the house, Mrs. Jerome slackened her steps. Her limbs trembled, she panted slightly, and a feeling of faintness came over her. The woman she had seen came again to the door, and stood there silently as if waiting for the stranger to speak—a timid, delicate young creature, with great innocent blue eyes and apple-bloom complexion. The lady looked into the shy face a moment and came forward, holding out her gloved hand.