Pressing the boy's hand, Margaret moved a little away, and as she gazed upwards to the blue sky gleaming through the branches overhead, she lifted up a silent petition to the great Friend of all mankind. Her own burden lightened as she laid that of another pilgrim at the feet of Christ.
Her thoughts were disturbed by Bob's voice in her ears:
"Let's go now, Miss Woodford, and get it over."
"Yes, it's late," she answered, neither looking at the boy's face, nor appearing conscious of an apparent change of atmosphere from the excitement of distress to normality. But the quiet, even tones of the boy's voice gave her confidence.
It did not take long to reach home; lunch was just being laid. James paused in astonishment as he saw the two enter the hall, but a look from Margaret silenced the words on his lips.
"Where is Mr. Medhurst?" she asked, in a brisk voice.
"In the library, miss," answered James, and moved on to his duties in the dining-room.
"Come, let's find him," she said, turning to Bob.
"You need not come," he muttered.
"I would like to, if I may?" she asked.