“Now—this very minute.”
“What nonsense! There are no trains.”
“I shall leave the house and stay at the station. I shall take the very next train to town. I am going.”
“But, Nora, have you money?”
“Money?” said Nora. “I never thought of that.”
“Mother won't give you money if she does not wish you to go.”
“I'll go to my room and see.” Nora rushed away. She came back in a few moments with her purse; she flung the contents on Molly's bed. Molly took up the silver coins as they rattled out of Nora's purse. Alack and alas! all she possessed was eight shillings and a few coppers.
“You cannot go with that,” said Molly; “and I have nothing to lend you, or I would; indeed, I would give you all I possess, but mother only gives me sixpence a week. Nothing would induce her to give me an allowance. I have sixpence a week just as if I were a baby, and you can quite understand I don't save out of that. What is to be done?”
Nora looked nonplused. For the first time the vigorous intention, the fierce resolve which was bearing her onward, was checked, and checked by so mighty a reason that she could not quite see her way out of the present difficulty. To ask her Aunt Grace for money would be worse than useless. Nora was a sufficient reader of character to be quite certain that Mrs. Hartrick when she said a thing meant it. She would be kind to Nora up to a certain point. Were her father in what they called danger she herself would be the first to help Nora to go to him.
“How little they know how badly he wants me!” thought the girl; “how all this time he is pining for me—he who never knew illness in his life—pining, pining for me! Nothing shall keep me from him. I would steal to go to him; there is nothing I would not do.”