After a few minutes the girl's human sympathy relaxed the tension, and freeing herself, Miss Emmy sat down by the bed.
"What is it, child? You are not yourself to-night, any more than I am. Were you not well received? Something has happened. What is it?"
Poppea shivered as she tried to frame a sentence that should be truthful and yet not reveal, then she said:—
"One day you said that I could not keep on for long singing as I had this winter 'because they will not let you.' Every one was very kind, but afterward—it chanced to come to me that the women on whom I counted 'will not let me' continue, as you said, so I am going home, again—to-morrow."
"That is not all, Poppea."
"That is all that I shall ever say," she answered with the fixed intent that always astonished those who for the first time realized her capacity for firmness.
"You do not need; I understand. I, too, am going home to the Hill, Poppea, because they will not let me stay."
"Oh, Aunty! Aunty!" she cried, "lie down beside me. I'm afraid, afraid of I don't know what, as I used to be when I slept in the little hooded cradle and Daddy came and put Mack in beside me and sat and held my hand."
Then peace fell gently on Miss Emmy because this young creature needed her.