"Tell your master that I will see him to-morrow," she whispered in a strained, strange voice; and the girl went away.
Strange fancies seemed to throng through her brain.
Royal Ainsley was dead, she had heard them say; and she fancied that her child was dead, too.
And now the man she loved had sent for her to turn her from the house, and she would never see him again.
Then she thought of the brook, so deep, so wide, that struggled on to meet the sea.
Yes, she would go there where some of the happiest, ay, and some of the most sorrowful moments of her life had been spent. The deep waters would carry her away on their bosom.
At intervals the girl came to the door to inquire if she wanted anything. The answer was always the same—"No."
She never knew how the long hours passed; she was like one in a dream.
At last night came. She waited until the house was dark and still. There was silence in the hall. All the lights were out, every one was asleep, and the troubles of the day were blotted out.
She raised the long French window that opened out onto the lawn and stepped out into the garden.