The house was quite still now. She took off her green cloth dress, put on a very plain one of black cashmere, slipped a little velvet cap on her head, wrapped a long white shawl round her, and thus equipped opened her door, and went downstairs.
She was startled at the foot of the stairs to encounter Maggie. Maggie was coming slowly upwards as Flower descended, and the two girls paused to look at one another. The lamps in the passages were turned low, and Maggie held a candle above her head; its light fell full on Flower.
“You mustn’t go to Miss Polly on no account, Miss Flower,” said Maggie, adopting the somewhat peremptory manner she had already used to Flower in the hermit’s hut. “Miss Polly is not to be frightened or put out in any way, leastways not to-night.”
“You mean that you think I would tell her about Dr. Maybright?”
“Perhaps you would, Miss; you’re none too sensible.”
Flower was too crushed even to reply to this uncomplimentary speech. After a pause, she said:
“I’m not going to Polly. I’m going away. Maggie, is it true that the—that Dr. Maybright is very ill?”
“Yes, Miss, the Doctor’s despert bad.”
Maggie’s face worked; her candle shook; she put up her other hand to wipe away the fast-flowing tears.
“Oh, don’t cry!” said Flower, stamping her foot impatiently. “Tears do no good, and it wasn’t you who did it.”