I went upstairs a few minutes later to find Aunt Penelope sitting up in bed and looking wonderfully fresh and cheerful.
"Now just sit down by me, Heather," she said, "and tell me the news. Why have you come back? I made up my mind that I'd keep my vow and promise to your father not to ask for you, even if I died without seeing you, until August."
"But that was very wrong of you, auntie, and you ought not to be at all proud of yourself for having made such a vow."
"Well, I made it, and I'm the last sort of woman to break my word. But you have come back, so it's all right now. Did you dream about me or anything of that sort?"
"Oh, no," I answered. "I came back, dear auntie—I came back of my own accord."
"What!" said Aunt Penelope. "Heather, child, I am not very strong, and you mustn't startle me. You don't mean to say, you don't mean to hint, that you—you aren't happy with your father?"
"I'd be always happy with father," I answered, "always, always. But the fact is, I don't think, Auntie Pen, dear, I don't think I love my stepmother very much."
"Thank the Lord for that!" exclaimed Miss Penelope. "She must be a horror, from all I can gather."
"I don't like her, auntie."
"You ran away, then? Is that what you mean? They'll be coming for you, they'll be trying to get you back; I know their ways, Heather. But now that you are here, you must promise to stay with me until the worst is over; you will promise, won't you? I don't pretend to deny, child, that I have missed you a good bit, yes, a very great deal. I am a proud old woman, but I don't mind owning that I have fretted for you, my child, considerably."