"No, don't speak," she said, in a hoarse whisper. "I know you have bad news, but don't tell me now, not until we get home."
"Get in," said Miss Mills, "I won't be long driving you to the Rectory. It is rather important for you to be there, and as the trap only holds two, perhaps Mr. Quentyns won't mind walking."
"Not at all," said Jasper, in his pleasant, calm voice. "Can you make room for our portmanteau at your feet, Miss Mills? Ah, yes, that will do nicely. By the way, how are you all? has Judy quite recovered from her faint?"
When Quentyns asked this question Miss Mills bent suddenly forward under the pretense of trying to arrange the portmanteau.
"We won't be any time getting to the Rectory," she said, turning to Hilda; she touched the pony with her whip as she spoke and they started forward.
"It was such a pity you didn't come last night," said the governess, as they entered the Rectory gates.
"I—I could not help it," murmured poor Hilda. With one hand she was tightly grasping the edge of the little basket-carriage.
"Stop, there is father," she exclaimed suddenly. "Let me go to him. I—I can bear him to tell me if there is anything wrong."
In an instant she reached the Rector's side. Her arms were round his neck, her head on his shoulder, and she was sobbing her heart out on his breast.
"My dearest Hilda, my darling!" exclaimed her father. "What is the meaning of all this? Why are you so dreadfully unhappy, my child?"