Weary and despondent, she ascended the pair of steps to the kitchen porch. Mrs. Clover was busy within, washing the supper dishes. She called out a cheery greeting, to which Eleanor responded briefly but with as pleasant a tone as she could muster. She could not but distrust her companion and gaoler, could not but fear that something vile and terrible lurked beneath that good-natured semblance: else why need the woman have become his creature?
“You ain’t hungry again?”
“No,” said Eleanor, lingering on the porch, reluctant to enter.
“Lonely?”
“No....”
“You needn’t be; your pa’ll be home by three o’clock, he says.”
Eleanor said nothing. Abruptly a thought had entered her mind, bringing hope; something she had almost forgotten had recurred with tremendous significance.
“Tired? I’ll go fix up your room soon ’s I’m done here, if you want to lay down again.”
“No; I’m in no hurry. I—I think I’ll go for another little walk round the island.”
“Help yourself,” the woman called after her heartily; “I’ll be busy for about half an hour, and then we can take our chairs out on the porch and watch the moon come up and have a real good, old-fashioned gossip....”